Renascence
by Malakaii
Summary: Esmeralda is a college student at Notre Dame University where she meets her Theology professor, Claude Frollo. At first glance, the bohemian beauty is drawn to the stoic man, but for more reasons than looks and smarts alone. They've met before, life times ago, when such love was forbidden and shamed. Fresme StudentxTeacher. M for eventual adult settings. Modern AU
1. Pilot

Early Mass had ended and Esmeralda once again found herself sharing the quiet spaces with cherubs and angels. She was alone and seated in the first pew, just paces from the altar. Though Esmeralda was no pious woman, she found an eagerness to dwell within the illustrious spires and marveling architect. Eventually she began attending Mass to cater to this desire. It's hallowed depictions of divinity and vigilant angels had carved itself a home within her thoughts. She dreamt of the place on occasion, recalling its towering columns of pearl-white and gold crown moulding. She had difficulty forgetting the numerous pews, the peaking spires that compassed heavenward, even the simpering smiles of saints and martyrs alike plagued her.

She didn't understand it, nor did she dwell on the matter much. The church was a beautiful, sanctifying place that surrounded her with a veil of familiarity. During tiring nights where her dreams weighed heavy, her mind would take her to a church much similar to Basilica of the Sacred Heart, but not quite the same. It's girth was far more profound, surpassing this small structure by the hundreds of feet, and outnumbered its variety of bells with its own thunderous carillon.

Basilica of the Sacred Heart brought a questionable intimacy to the tan-skinned girl, which is why she returned as often as she could. Perhaps one day the answer would await her, somewhere, anywhere. Maybe upon the altar, or among the swept back wings of angels or conceivably dancing along the lit candles, lingering just beyond the flame's umbra, waiting to be acknowledged.

Wherever the case, it wasn't making it known today. Her following class was introduction to Theology, located on the south end of campus, a minimum five minute walk, and she had ten minutes to get there. She gathered her books and made reluctant haste towards the exit. As she reached the door, she paused and gave the altar one last glance.

Its presence held the answer to why within these walls Esmeralda felt an untold story. She had racked her brain countless of times, failing to recall why such grandeur and celestial marvel struck such an intimate closeness. Time was ticking. She drew the door shut and hurried to class.

* * *

Esmeralda was the last student to walk into the large auditorium. Majority of the pupils had already found their desired seats and were ready. At the head of the class stood a tall, gaunt of a man with a lean build. As if he felt the shifting of eyes, he looked up from his podium and regarded her with a cool, steady gaze. He sported grey slacks, a matching and well-fitted vest over a white collared shirt and a black tie. His gait was wide and fluid as he approached his podium. He alerted the screen and skimmed the roster.

"You must be Esmeralda." he said as he reviewed the list before him.

The class, once a hum of relaxed senseless prattle, became quiet.

"Yes, I am." she replied, spotting an empty seat front and centered of the room.

"Please be to class on time." he muttered, adjusting the entry upon his roster. He then released the cuff links about his wrist, began folding the fabric back until the paleness of his forearms was exposed.

Esmeralda was transfixed. Unknowingly she had cocked her head to the side and eyed him with suspicion and study. She assigned him the age of forty to forty-five with a widow's peak of combed back silver hair.

As the paper ran its course about the lecture room, she took a seat as the professor readied the projector. Ahead, against the wall, its projection reached and presented the first slide of a Powerpoint. It's makeup was not one of artistic feats, but plain with a white background and black lettering. No embellishment resided in the corners, or accents that portrayed the efforts of late night sprucing. Simple and straight to the point.

He then moved across the room to dim the lights.

As the shadows took reign of the classroom, he said. "Welcome to Theology. My name is Professor Frollo, and these are my office hours."


	2. A Winter's Night

**[A/N:] Oh sweet JAYZUS! Anyone else suffering from the downing of ? I almost lost my whim! Anyway, it gave me plenty of time to write several following chapters. **

**Thanks to my anonymous Fresme fans, we just can't get enough Fresme, can we? And Fiery Inkheart, right! What took me so long!**

* * *

It continued for the twenty year old girl. Another dream came to her during a winter's night. This time instead of stalling across the courtyards expansion, she reached the steps of the cathedral. The ground was a startling cold and when she glanced down, she discovered her feet were bare, an anklet garnished one of her slender legs. She moved forward, adhering to the biting cold with haste.

As she entered the cathedral and closed the door, a impenetrable darkness encased her. She froze, heart in throat, and listened to the drafty winds that seeped through the aging stone. Where was she? What was this place? She slid a foot forward and began traversing the thick shadows that surrounded her. Though she could not see, Esmeralda continued to move. Up ahead, a light dimmed and faded, flickering for a moment, only to return with much more courage until finally a flame took hold. It grew, illuminating a wide fireplace. A figure then stepped from the shadows and stood before it. A whispering took hold, too soft and beseeching for the girl to understand. It came from all sides of her, above as well as below, possessing various octaves and pitches, both masculine and feminine.

Esmeralda eyed the shadow as they moved before the flames. Their shoulders shook and trembled under the quake of fervent sobbing.

"Hello?" Her unsteady voice said to the shadow.

But the shadow did not stir to the sound of her voice until…

"Esmeralda?" a voice coaxed. "Esmeralda?" they said again.

The girl spun on her heels to face the wall of darkness that spoke her name. She searched the abyss, seeking its provenance, but she discovered nothing. When she returned her attention to fireplace, the figure was gone. The sobbing had ceased.

"Esmeralda?" The inquisitive darkness said again. Something grasped her shoulders and she woke.

* * *

"You're going to be late," the sound of her dorm mate reached her ears, as well as the sweet smell of coffee. Nadia, one of Esmeralda's many peers, was generous enough to rouse her from her slumber. This incentive was gracious and saved Esmeralda countless of times during final exams.

Esmeralda groaned, her voice cracking from sleep. "What time is it?" she asked with closed eyes, too reluctant to brave the morning sun. She flopped a forearm across her face to shield them from the glow.

The bed moved as Nadia sought the clock. "Nine thirty."

"Nine thirty!" Esmeralda jerked awake, flinging her arm as she rose, and accidentally smacking the face of an unsuspecting Nadia.

"Shit!" Nadia exclaimed as her head bucked backward. Her hands flew up to clutch her nose.

"Ooooh!" Esmeralda cringed, "I didn't realize you were that close, I'm sorry!"

"I didn't either." Nadia's muffled voice responded. "I think my nose is bleeding."

Ignoring her dismayed friend, Esmeralda threw the covers back and proceeded to get dressed. She squirted a glob of paste upon her toothbrush and began working the bristle fervently. She pulled her raven hair into a shambled bun while tossing together a presentable attire that didn't suggest she had just woken up. She spat the frothy mixture into the sink, licked her lips clean, and sprinted out the door.

The door slammed aggressively, a moment passed, it opened again. A tanned arm reached through its opening, snagging the backpack from the floor and slamming shut again.

Theology had ended, Esmeralda was too late. She found the door locked and the lights off. Glancing around to make sure her misfortune was not witnessed, she moved away casually and headed for the "God Quad", a section of the college where four of the biggest buildings sat within close proximity. The university was a mammoth campus. One that provided adequate but efficient separation of student and faculty body. Esmeralda was en route for the Golden Dome, the third largest building the university possessed and where most administrative actions commenced. In the past, it was utilized for classroom settings and even dining, but as more buildings were created to cater to the student body, the Golden Dome became a place where faculty resided in between lectures and study.

Much like all the buildings of the university, it exuded characteristics of medieval architect, including the signature spires, numerous arch ways, and various biblical figures. The corridor's golden ceilings were vaulted and the walls covered in original paintings. Some were of great crusades while others displayed archaic imagery of Latter-Day worship.

Esmeralda had quickly climbed the stairs to the third floor. By the time she reached the landing, her lungs were heaving for air. She looked left and then right, attempting to recall in which direction she could find the professor. She went on a whim and headed right. As she passed office rooms, her eyes scanned the name plates designated for each instructor. Neat gold letters assigned the office of a reverend by the name of Thomas Arthur. A Fine Arts teacher across by from him named Nancy Whitaker. The names went on until finally, her eyes settled on the name Claude Frollo.

The door was shut and she struggled on deciding if it were best to just write the man an email. It was either this or back to the Basilica where her mind tended to daydream. Theology was her final class and it was a Friday, she'd slept through all of her morning lectures. Esmeralda realized now this was the only class she seemed concerned for. She had Theater for the first hour, which had evaded her consideration until now. She rose a hand and softly rapped her knuckles against the thick wood. Someone stirred on the other side, a drawer shut, and a chair groaned under weight. The door latched released and drawn back, revealing the indomitable man. For some unfathomable reason, her heart fluttered.

"Professor," she exhaled, suddenly breathless. Her tongue turned thick and heavy in her mouth. Where did these nerves originate? Perhaps she was suffering from palpitations.

"Yes?" He replied in his mellifluous voice.

"I-," Esmeralda blinked, drawing blank. "I overslept. I missed your lecture by accident. Is there anything particular I need to be aware of?" The words came flooding from her tongue all at once. Her heart had turned upward, creeping into her throat where it nested with heavy rhythms.

Professor Frollo slanted his head as his dark brows furrowed. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your lecture," she reinstated. "I missed it."

"Mmm," Frollo grunted, "Intro to Theology, I presume?"

She nodded and watched him glance at his desk. Stacks of paper and books covered the surface. A lamp resided at the corner, the only source of light within the dim room. He then stepped back, widening the entrance to his office.

"Have a seat." he told her.

Esmeralda stepped into the office as he shut it behind him. His walls were lined with bookshelves, all levels teemed with worn and weathered spines. Heavy velvet sanguine drapes hung closed, warding of the burning dawn. His furnishings were of a dark cherry wood and a trunk rested upon the floor, posing as a coffee table in front of a dark leather couch. The rug beneath her feet was plush and also a deep shade of scarlet.

Esmeralda helped herself down onto a leather club chair as the professor took a seat and began sifting through his paperwork. He tapped the mouse with his fingertip, waking the sleeping monitor.

"Did you check your syllabus?" he inquired without looking up, his long fingertips working the edges of the papers, flipping through.

"I did not." she replied, suddenly feeling daft.

"Perhaps your efforts were in vain." he remarked, "I had nothing planned for today, in fact, I released the class after taking muster. You're a lucky girl."

Unbeknownst to him, Esmeralda was staring. Somehow the formidable presence before her had induced a certain paralysis. She racked her brain for something clever to say, but her mind drew blank, leaving her senseless and sufferably aphonic. She dropped her gaze onto the man's thin mouth and wondered what it would take for a smile to play those lips. What would it feel like to graze that soft flesh with her tongue? What would a man of his caliber taste like? In an instant, admonishment flared her cheeks into a rosy blush.

"Esmeralda?" His rich tone penetrated her thoughts, snapping her back to reality where she stared unwaveringly upon his face.

"Yes?" she freed herself of the fixation, blinking vividly green orbs.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" He met her gaze, a daunting blue against her emerald pools and for a moment, she couldn't breathe. Her tongue fell defective and for once she hadn't the words. This had never happened to her before. This baffling, starry-eyed insanity was foreign territory for the sunkissed bohemian. She wasn't an arrogant creature, but surely of the confident breed. But here and now, she was muted, stunned for whatever reason.

_Say something!_ her thoughts screamed.

"No-," the word came out stunted and mumbled, "Sir."

_Get out! Get out of the office now! _Her fingers made claws against the leather armrests and she readied to stand. Still their eyes held onto each other as she rose ineptly, her hand snaring the catch of her backpack.

"Thank you," her lips fumbled, "Have a good weekend."

"You as well."


	3. I have this thing

It was imminent, incandescently imminent that she would disclose her most private thoughts to Nadia. Under her escalating inebriety, Esmeralda decided she could no longer burden the fermenting secret alone. It was becoming too heavy for her and too enticing not to share. And under a rain-filled Sunday night where the girls abetted in a house party, Esmeralda felt it the perfect setting for such an admission. The music was deafening and the air smelled of sweat and a mèlange of cheap perfume. After Esmeralda had danced herself into a stupor, she flopped onto a nearby couch and patted the cushion next to her. Nadia obliged.

"Who is it?" Nadia's inquisitive eyes a tinged red. She knew Esmeralda had something to reveal by the girl's impish grin. Nadia sat back against the cushion and eyed her under thick lashes.

With a coy smile, Esmeralda declined. "I'm not sure I can say."

Nadia gaped. "Are you serious? Why not? Is it that bad?"

Esmeralda laughed, "It's childish, mortifying! I'm almost ashamed of it."

Nadia straight-faced her peer, granting her an incredulous look that spoke, _It can't be that bad._

Esmeralda swallowed thickly as the anticipation began to build. She wanted to tell someone, anyone willing to lend an ear to her affliction, but should she? Nadia had been her friend since the beginning of freshman year and never led her wrongly. She'd grown to trust the girl with a contagious smile. It was decided, Esmeralda realized. She had to tell her.

She bit her lip and mumbled, "I have this thing for my Theology professor."

Nadia turned reflective as she attempted to recall every Theology professor at Notre Dame.

"What's he look like?" she asked with tilted curiosity.

Esmeralda respired in thought. Where did she begin? Apart of her, despite her evident reluctance, wanted Nadia to react in shock and awe, but knowing the girl well enough, Esmeralda knew she would remain a certain blasé.

"Before I tell you," Esmeralda stated somberly, "Do not judge me or laugh."

Nadia dropped her smile and mirrored a mock-seriousness. "I promise."

She knew the moment Nadia realized his identity, it was all over. She mused for a moment, the dizzying sensation of an emerging secret almost disoriented herself. Merely talking about the man made it feel as if he was next to her, watching with calculating eyes under thick arching brows. Esmeralda shivered.

"Tall and distinguished." She began, already mesmerized by the images that played in her thoughts. "He has this air about him," she moved a hand to her breast, feeling the fluttering heart beneath it. She thought going out for a night with Nadia, sipping tonics and cheap beers, would help clear her academically inclined thoughts, conceivably numbing it even. But it had not, in fact, it had worsened. Bringing the shadows of her mind forth, and fabricating them into words that now flittered out from her tongue. Nadia had drawn quiet. The deafening music that seemed to invade their thoughts before, now a forgotten qualm. "He's a man," she gushed breathlessly. "He wears peacoats, and suspenders! Thick maroon scarves. His words, the way he talks with an accent, Nadia. He's so intelligent."

A grin had began to pull at the corner of Nadia's mouth. Even her expression reflected the swooning that had also captured Esmeralda. Nadia licked her lips in thought and said, "Are you sure it's not a power thing?"

Esmeralda cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

Nadia sat up and scanned the crowd of students still drinking and dancing within the music.

"I don't know," she began, "Some girls are into men in power. It's an aphrodisiac for them." She settled her chocolate gaze, black in the golden glow, onto Esmeralda. "Are you finally fed up with all these casual dates?" Nadia asked with a pointed stare.

Esmeralda laughed wholeheartedly, "No, it has nothing to do with that." The crown of thick black hair dropped back and her green eyes stared into the ceiling. Her lips parted in a mischievous grin.

"What?" Nadia's voice inquired. "What is it? What are you plotting?"

Her fingers dug into the front pockets of her jeans to retrieve her phone. She woke the screen and began sifting through her emails.

Nadia scooted closer to peer over Esmeralda's shoulder. "What are you doing?"

Esmeralda spotted the email and opened it for what felt like the thousandth time. She scrolled down to the bottom, ignoring her friend's incredulous gawk. At the end, in foot notes, was her professor's contact information, including an office extension and his personal number. He was strict about calling times and even suggested it be best to email him instead, though he wouldn't check it on the weekends.

"Esmeralda, are you serious?" Nadia gasped. "Him?"

Esmeralda copied the number and entered it into her key-log.

Nadia threw a hand over her mouth, "Jesus, you're serious." Her words muffled. She squeezed a hand over her mouth as she squealed with exaggerated glee. Being a lesbian, Nadia loved all things forbidden and taboo, reveled in it even. She watched Esmeralda rise, bringing the phone to her ear as she tucked a lock of hair away. She slipped out of the back door to wait in the frigid night's air.


	4. Ground Control to Major Tom

_I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream_  
_I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam_  
_And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem_  
_But if I know you, I know what you'll do_  
_You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream_

* * *

Monday had regretfully arrived with scarce recollection of the past six hours. Nadia hadn't drank as much as Esmeralda, which was good news ; it meant she was the brains of the operation, which prevented Esmeralda from attempting anything stupid.

After getting ready, the girls met at the dining hall for some coffee and bagels. They were still recovering from their hangovers as they prodded their breakfast. Esmeralda's stomach churned painfully, threatening to expel anything she intended to consume. She surrendered, pushing the bagel aside and pulling the cup of coffee closer. The steam rose languidly, caressing her face as she basked in its heat.

"Any exams for today?" Nadia's tired voice inquired from across the table.

"Two, actually," Esmeralda replied. "Both of my classes have essays due."

"Dang," Nadia drawled. She dropped her bagel and ran her fingertips in circles against her temples. She cursed under her breath.

Esmeralda squeezed her eyes shut as they began to ache. The light from the dining hall seemed too harsh. She rubbed away the pain with a knuckle. She sighed, opening her bloodshot gaze to look upon Nadia, who suddenly chuckled, reminiscing.

"What?" Esmeralda asked between quick sips of coffee.

"I still can't believe you called your professor." she chuckled again. "You've always been so fearless!"

A few seconds of silence passed and Esmeralda didn't respond. Nadia glanced up from her breakfast to study her suddenly reticent peer. She found the girl transfixed, a glint of light shining across her face. Her pupils were pinpoints, and the green of her irises was more vivid than ever, locked in the brilliance of the sunshine. She was looking across the large cafe into the streets outside where the refraction originated.

Nadia followed the line of sight and eyed the passing foot traffic, but nothing appeared abnormal. She looked back to Esmeralda, still muted and dazed, and reached across the table and snapped her fingers.

_Ground Control to Major Tom_, Esmeralda heard faintly, like a whisper at the end of a tunnel. The smile she had began to slip from her lips as the trance took hold. A flickering had riffed across the room, snaring Esmeralda's attention. She sat fixed and motionless as her eyes unfocused and the sound around her faded. In her head the images unfolded...

_She was back in the sunny courtyard of her dream with the cold cobblestone beneath her feet. A glint refracted from the stained panels of glass. She winced, turning away from the glare. It's provenance that of a massive cathedral. The air was warm and rained bits of ribbon and colored paper. She was on a stage, in someone's lap, writhing against them. They felt warm and firm. Their hands were clutching the armrest with pale, jeweled claws. She sank against them, wiggling in the dredge of their lap. Though she was aware of her actions, she had no control over them._

_She moved her eyes around, felt the straining of a smile playing her lips as she jumped up. Her shoulders were bare, the sleeves of her scarlet tunic had been drawn down. As quickly as she rubbed against the stranger beneath the shadow of the awning, she moved._

_Her long legs pirouetted, flaring the dress at her ankles like a flourishing inferno. Her orbit slowed until she sank to the wooden stage, breathless and glistening with sweat._

_When she lifted her gaze she saw him. Fuming under the shadows from whence she came was a man, the figure from the fireplace. His sullen features marked by knitted brows and a malice set of the mouth. Through the bitterness he exuded towards her, her body recalled the thickening length she felt against her bottom. She smiled and so did he; _

_Maliciously._

Somewhere in the room, someone was singing David Bowie's Space Oddity. Esmeralda blinked and she was back in the dining hall of Notre Dame.

"Nadia," she said with confusion, slowly becoming aware of what had just transpired. "The weirdest thing just happened."

"Yeah, no kidding." Nadia spat, "I thought I'd lost you there."

* * *

Claude was gathering the last bit of supplies before his following lecture. He was still within the Golden Dome, buttoning his peacoat and re-adjusting the scarf about his pale neck. The walk was going to be frigid and Claude hated that. Snapping his briefcase closed, he shut off his desk lamp and grabbed his office keys. As he headed out the door, he palmed the cellphone resting deep in his pocket. It'd been an odd start for the professor, beginning with the proverbial missed phone call during the ripe hours of the night. Thank God his phone was on silent, or a student would have been reprimanded thoroughly. Moreover, the caller, a girl, had left a voice mail that left him questioning his awareness. It was a confession, more or less, on her thoughts she conjured in his favor. By the throaty laughter she produced and the occasional slurring, he knew she was inebriated.

Having never experienced such an ordeal, Claude summoned the guidance of his adopted son who, despite his ill-favored appearance, sewn many a great relations with the female creatures Claude knew so little about. Initially, he had reduced the encounter as a mere prank. It certainly wasn't the first phone call he had received during his teachings at Notre Dame. Most were cackling boys yawping obscenities into the speaker and bellowing quotes upon mocking tongues. But this, this he had never received, a melody of a sweet voice; especially one offering thoughts on affection for his behalf. After a thought, he was elated, awestruck that a man such as he could be for once the recipient, but alas, insecurity and doubt reared an ugly head, striking him with the cold reality that a callous man such as he could never elicit ardor from another.

After he indulged his current oppression to the boy who, in turn, gave rather a queer approach; call her back and see what she had to say. Claude decided it was best to just ignore it entirely. Yes, that will do, he thought. Besides, she was probably a hideous, unsightly thing, which he had no desire in entertaining.

Claude turned and locked his office door with a gloved hand.

"Dr. Frollo, you always looks so sharp." a woman's voice uttered from behind.

Claude straightened and eyed the woman with a scrutinizing look. Was she toying with him? He rarely received compliments. When she offered a genuine smile, he curtly thanked her and hurried towards the staircase. Today was getting odder by the hour.

Claude reached the innards of his auditorium where a full class awaited him. He had prepared the lesson the night before, coming to the campus from his home and inscribing a message upon the white board. A prompt had been provided, asking the students to summarize what they believed Theology meant, and why it was important to become well-rounded in the metaphysical means.

Much to his delight, most students began right away. Their heads were bent over their papers as they worked their pens diligently. Claude sat his briefcase down and removed his winter layers. He draped the jacket upon his chair and retrieved his phone from its depths. He wanted to hear her voice again, though he had no idea what beautiful mouth it derived from.

He checked the class with a fleeting glance as he headed out the door. He left it cracked in case they began to question his whereabouts. Tapping the call button, he rang his voice mail and a few seconds later, her voice flowed from the device into his ear.

"_Professor Claude Frollo_," she breathed drunkenly, the same riff of music repeating in the background. "_I just wanted to let you know that I'm thinking about you. I'm always thinking about you_." She laughed and he revelled in the intoxicating sound. He pictured the figure of a beautiful woman at his side, imploring him to find the mystery that she so quickly became.

"_My God, where do I begin with you_?" Her voice continued, "_You're not my type, but suddenly, you are? Maybe you've always been, I don't know. I don't know anything anymore._"

Though they were incoherent bouts of rambling, she was trying to tell him something. Was she honestly crushing? Somewhere among the student body, a female had developed an infatuation. This troubled as well as excited him. He'd been at the University of Notre Dame for sixteen years and not once did this happen.

The message ended and he was left alone in the corridor. He ended the call and checked his previous log. Her number was still there, logged at 1:45 in the morning. She was evidently one of his pupils, though he had numerous classes, ranging from opening Theology to the more advanced lectures. A thought struck him then as he review the call log. His thumb hovered over the button and without a second thought, he tapped the screen. The call opened and began dialing her number. He lifted the device and pressed it into his ear.

It began to ring.

He waited there with one arm crossed while the other rested against it. He glanced into the crack of the door, eyeing his students as they worked. Someone stirred, near the front row, a girl. Her hair was obsidian and her skin the color of caramel.

His stomach dropped as the air went out from his lungs.

Could it be?

Transfixed, Claude watched through the narrow opening as the phone continued to ring. He could hear it now, the constant vibration deep in the belly of her book bag. He lowered his phone from his ear as she tore it open, her brown arm disappearing into its folds. When she retrieved her phone, her expression fell alarmed. A hand shot up to catch the gasp that slipped from her full lips. She lifted her head and Claude tried to move away, but fell short. He faltered, spellbound by her gaze. His heart began to pound as his lung starved for air. They held each other there, hypnotized, or at least Claude was.

A shrill sounded erupted his trance. He snapped to, startled at the screaming volume of his phone. He looked down, tearing his gaze away and saw the call was from his adopted son. Without another glance, he moved away from the door and answered.

* * *

**[A/N]: I'm so excited you guys are into this Fresme student/teacher mess. Song is Lana Del Rey's 'Once Upon a Dream.' ****R&amp;R!**


	5. Cat & Mouse

Out of precaution, Esmeralda shut her phone off and stuffed it back into the confines of her book bag. The professor, evidently aware of the caller's identity, had been gone for more than half the class. As the students began finishing up their assignments, they started a neat stack upon his desk as they took their leave.

Esmeralda had come prepared to write the essay but now that things took a troubling turn, she found it adamantly difficult to concentrate. She kept glancing at the door. She was anticipating at any moment the professor's return.

Her stomach was in knots, twisting against itself, plummeting to the pit, and then climbing back up again. A sweating hand continued to write her essay with trembling penmanship as her thoughts spiraled downward. Where was he? Was he notifying the Dean of her actions? She sat up and reflected. No, he wasn't the type of man to blow the whistle. He was too calculating and introverted to go running for the hills.

Suddenly everything she had worked so hard for, her grades, her application, the degree plan she chose, balanced on thin ice. She could lose it all, she realized. What was the policy again on fraternization? Of course she didn't know it at the top of her head. Had she realized she would grow a blindsiding inclination for her teacher, maybe she would have checked the policy sooner, and more thoroughly.

The entrance eased open and in walked Professor Frollo. Casually, he moved for his desk and sat down. Esmeralda had to force herself not to glance up. Unnaturally she stared at her essay, consisting only a fraction of the mandatory word count. The pounding of her frantic heart seemed perpetual now.

The auditorium dwindled down to remaining three students, Esmeralda being one of them, out of the sixty enrolled. She managed to add a few more sentences but not nearly enough to pass with even a low C. She tapped the end of her pen against the desk restlessly. Her mind still flooding with worst case scenarios. In retrospect, she shouldn't have gone out that night. Had she stuck to her guns and remained on campus, she would have never drank, and therefore, never called her teacher. An ache began to brew behind her eyes as she contemplated. Did he mean to call her? Of all hours of the day, how did he manage to call her during the hour they had class together? Esmeralda felt herself becoming frustrated.

_Just my luck_, she chided.

She propped an elbow against her desk and tangled her fingers into her hair as she wrote. But what if he didn't know it was her? What if she played it off like it was just someone else calling and not actually him? Could she do that? She was never an avid liar but a white one, here or there, could never hurt.

The last student, sans Esmeralda, stood and turned in their essay. She hoped he would draw his leave out, but apparently only came to class with a writing utensil and not much else. She watched him hand the paper over and immediately leave.

The professor glanced up and they made eye contact.

* * *

The poor girl did not wish to come before the professor, but she rose mechanically from her desk, paper in hand, and sauntered toward him. There was a sway in the swell of her hips, accented by her narrow midsection and her hair fell down like obsidian silk, unmarred by offensive chemicals or frivolous trinkets like bows or pins.

An arm stretched out towards him and he took the paper from its fingertips. His eyes flowed upward passed her thin wrist, the bend of her elbow, the curve of a strong, but still fragile, bicep before her tan skin became concealed under a white tunic. He swallowed though his heart pumped with madness.

"Are you done?" he asked simply. But when his eyes devoured the article, he found the paper scarce and rather lacking. The flow of penmanship was contrasting as well, starting with the fluidity of cursive and ending with gnarled chicken scratch that hurt to look upon.

"This is incomplete," he stated, rather confused. "I can't take this."

Esmeralda respired slowly and offered a defeated flop of her hands. "I'm sorry." But not on behalf the paper, she realized.

"Are you?" he asked, unreadable. He loosened his grasp and the paper fluttered down onto the desk.

She bit her lip and rocked onto her heels. "I wasn't...in the right state of mind."

Claude crossed his arms and waited. She glanced down at her fidgeting hands, twisting and ringing against themselves.

"Are you now?" she heard him say. She lifted her gaze as he stood. His eyes were hard and his voice was flint. He came around the table, tracing long fingers against the smooth surface of his desk. "Are you in the right state of mind now?"

His heat came with, towing the smell of his cologne that made her heart spike in rhythm. He was too close, far too close.

"Yes." she quivered.

"Are you of age, Esmeralda?" he asked with a soothing voice, deep and resonating. A sound that echoed in her bones like heat, taking her from the inside and out. Still so close, she couldn't think. She watched him carefully, the tilt of his head, the set of his mouth so close to hers. What did he ask again? Was she what? Of age?

"No," she heard herself respond, "I'm not."

"How old are you then?" He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with such gentleness Esmeralda feared her knees would buckle. She stiffened, forgetting to breathe.

A sigh came rushing passed her lips variably as she spoke. "Twenty."

"Twenty?" he echoed mockingly. "You're just a child. What are you doing calling a man such as I during the night? What were you possibly trying to accomplish?"

He was toying with her, she knew this, but he wanted to hear it for himself.

She swallowed, regaining some parcel of clarity to her thoughts. "I wanted to talk." It sounded harmless at first, but as it hung in the air, it became more of a stark lie than a statement.

"I don't believe that." he whispered and it seeped into her skin, bringing forth chills that raced down to the pit of her stomach where it furrowed. Her insides fluttered, making it difficult to concentrate on anything but the formidable man mere inches away. She wanted to diminish the empty space and replace it with her body against his. But she did not, she was immobile. She thought about his lingering touch that still burned her skin, leaving a starving ache for more. She wanted it everywhere, between her legs, against her rump, sliding along the plains of her skin like a hungry flame.

The professor must have noticed something for he cleared his throat and it snapped her out of her trance. Her eyes shot open. _Oh God_, she thought. What had she done? Was she daydreaming? Did she moan aloud?

"Esmeralda," he began, licking his lips. His words came out steadily under their sultry vibrations. "I'm going to have to ask you not to call me if it's not related to our academics."

Deadpanned.

She swallowed thickly and decided not to answer. She didn't know the rules because she had never read them, but his statement alone suggested he was off limits. And not even she, with long legs and onyx hair, could be pardoned of those odious guidelines.

He leaned against the desk and crossed his arms and said with a clipping voice, "Am I clear?"

She almost gawked at him. Why did he work her up just to shoot her down? Was this a game? Did he _really_ want to open up that part of her agenda? Just moments ago he was sauntering towards her, set to make her wildest, and rather shameless, dreams come to life. And for what? To rebuke the thoughts as if she alone had conjured them? Was he pretending that he did not share the same flame?

"Crystal clear." she almost spat. And the flint of her voice caused a wry grin to play his lips, darkening his already smoldering eyes.

Suddenly she realized it _was _a game, of cat and mouse in fact. And immediately to follow was the willingness to play.

She didn't wait for the discussion to go any further. With gritted teeth, she turned on her heels and returned to her desk to gather her things. She felt the pinpricks of his gaze stab at her back as she strode quickly across the room. She could almost taste his smug demeanor. She wanted to tell him this was no victory, that the chase had only begun, and once it did, he would be hers.

The auditorium door slammed, leaving the self-satisfied professor alone to wallow in his triumph.


	6. Under a Winter's Snow

**[A/N:] Thanks for everyones patience. I just needed a swift kick to the rear to be reminded why I started this. Because hashtag fresme, obviously.**

**Chapter's dedicated to MainEvent1003 for being so supportive and unworldly kind to me.**

* * *

Professor Claude Frollo was at his wit's end. He was currently standing at the window within his office watching the bodies of students and faculty traverse the campus. There was a quiet snowfall outside. The overcast was a thick, heavy grey but remarkably meek with the soft, slow descent of white flakes that fell from its belly.

From behind him, he heard the ding of an incoming email. It was a Friday evening and classes had just concluded. Employees and their subordinates were winding down and beginning their wet trek back to their homes or dorm rooms. Claude drew the curtains shut and turned towards his computer. He woke the screen as he sat and eyed the notification at the bottom right corner. A football game? Claude thought as he opened the newly arrived email. His eyes scrolled the content, progressing a frown the more he read on.

Yes, a football game, the first of the season, he realized with annoyance.

It was tonight at seven and what a trifling week it had been. Starting with the female from his second lecture whose face he couldn't remove from his thoughts even if he simply burned away. Part of him wished she had been unsightly; it would have made his life easier. But she wasn't and he had touched her. Just thinking about her made his lungs seize and heart thump. What had gotten into him that he would so brazenly reach forth and caress her hair?

For a moment, he braced for something along the lines of repulsion. But she had not cringed from his touch, but in fact, leaned into it. The last thing he wanted to do was witness frivolous bantering and loud obnoxious grunts crashing into one another. He wanted to go home and open a new bottle of wine and reminisce on what if felt to feel those locks of obsidian hair slip through his fingertips. As he continued to read, a footnote waited near the bottom for his acknowledgement. It told him his presence there was requested and it wasn't something he could simply ignore. Every game the faculty requested a number of teachers to attend. Today was his day apparently.

_How odious_, his thoughts grumbled.

Respiring heavily, he sat back in his chair and contemplated the matter. What could he possibly take from this evening? It wasn't the fresh air, though winter had come early and now eclipsed the ground with its white glisten, he indeed loved walking in the snow, but it wasn't the fresh air. It certainly wasn't social exposure, he was well past his prime and had already accumulated enough of that during his younger years at the academy. What could he possibly derive from this evening out in the midst of the commoners? Enlightenment? Perhaps he needed to see why he was a Professor and not a overweight coach bustling along on the side lines. The striking thought brought a smile to his lips. He did enjoy seeing the lessers scrounging about for some meaning to their existence.

The smile lingered and he thought, _why not_?

* * *

Claude Frollo had made a terrible mistake. Around him, the student body cried and bellowed a sound that even the stars could hear. He refused to venture into the bleachers where the roar became deafening and certainly did not partake in the concession where even more squalling occurred. The concrete was littered with dropped food and trampled trash and the amount of patrons associating themselves with this nonsense was suffocating. He pressed against the fence nearest to the exit where he intended to stay for the entire game. He had to be here long enough to see to its end and then he would be gone. At home, a bottle of red wine awaited his plunder and the fireplace was ready for igniting.

A chill seeped back his scarf and bit into his skin. He shuddered, tucking his chin into the folds and flexing his shoulders closer to his frame. He could be on the sidewalks of his neighborhood where it was peaceful and deserted, not here where the clamor felt tangible and the mass of bodies churned like drones of cattle. He hated football games, but at least the Dean saw he had made an effort.

The fourth quarter bell rang out and Claude was already moving out of the exit and into the parking lot. Small flakes descended gracefully from the blackened sky as he stuffed his hands into his peacoat, the modicums of white caught by the lamp posts around him. Claude made it to the outer edges of the lot before he heard his name.

* * *

Esmeralda had seen him at the game and she thought it rather odd such an introverted man would be there. It was evident he detested his whereabouts by the grave scowl on his face and when the final quarter ended, he immediately honed for an exit. She reacted quickly, scrambling from the bleachers where Nadia sat bemused and hurried across to catch up. The man's gait was long and difficult to meet, so she trailed behind. It'd been severals days since their incident and by now it felt like more of a dream than a memory.

She lost him for a second but by quickening her steps, she spotted him again, further across the lot. She called out to when he was a few paces from his vehicle, keys jostling in hand. He rooted in place and glanced over his shoulder.

"Yes?" he called back, intrigued.

Esmeralda stepped out from between two SUVs and smiled, allowing him a moment to recognize her. "I didn't think you be the type to attend football games." she quipped.

The professor regarded her and recognition struck his countenance like shock. He clamped his mouth shut and clutched at the folds of his thick black coat, fidgeting for the pockets.

"Esmeralda." The inflection of his voice cracked and he cut it off with a nervous swallow. "I was summoned here on behalf of the school board. It reflects well on the morale to see even employees attending extracurricular activities."

"Ahhh," she smiled within the darkness. "Do you have anything planned for tonight?"

He took a moment, reflecting, and then shook his head. "No, this was all I had planned for my evening." he gestured towards the blinding stadium lights.

She followed his gaze for a moment and then glanced back to him. He squirmed and a muscle in his jaw ticked.

"Do you mind giving me a ride?" she suddenly inquired. "My dorm mate ditched me." Even though she knew very well _she_ had ditched Nadia in the stands to chase after her professor's coattails. "I don't really want to walk in the snow and it is pretty dark."

He began nodding, eyeing the blackened sky. He cleared his throat and muttered, "I suppose."

When the doors unlocked and Esmeralda crawled into the car, she found herself greeted by the smell of leather and cinnamon. He turned the engine over and the interior instruments took to life with a blue glow. The soft melody of pianos and harps seeped through the speakers at a low volume.

She was trembling but not from the cold, and couldn't help stealing glances at the daunting man beside her. The engine purred and they waited for the car to warm up before applying heat. She fought the smile tugging at her lips and bit down as she waited.

"Do you live on campus or in town?" his grave voice filled the car.

Esmeralda considered lying just to bide more time next to him, but her voice betrayed her. "On campus. I live on campus." she said regretfully.

He then buckled his seatbelt and she followed suit. The car reversed and pulled out of the lot. She only had a couple of minutes. Notre Dame still separated sexes when it came to housing so without saying which dorm, her professor took a right and drove towards the female dormitories.

Her mind scrambled for a way prolong the inevitable as the shadow of her dorm building came into view. He slowed as he turned into the parking lot and brought the vehicle to a stop just before the front door. They stared together at the glowing entrance, neither speaking as a girl and her boyfriend necked quickly before parting ways. She didn't want to get out and the fact that he wasn't rushing to get her out told her he felt similar.

She shot him a look, holding his stare as he clutched the steering wheel. She wanted to laugh at his apprehension but she also wanted to appear mature and in control.

"I don't have anything planned for tonight, Professor." she whispered steadily over the soft melody of opera on the radio. She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, noticing his eyes fall to her lower half. He swallowed and turned his head away. His hands remained locked to the steering wheel. A moment passed and she feared her heart was going to burst. It was getting stuffy in here from her nerves.

Suddenly he released his grip and dropped a slender hand to the gear shift. He pushed it into drive and together, they left the lot.


	7. Red Wine & Heels

**[A:N] Phew! Okay, quick disclaimer, there are various situations that are OOC for Frollo and Esmeralda. I made it this way because I picked a MODERN AU, so the dynamics of personality are STARKLY different. We're comparing 16th century mannerisms to 21st century where women are not as shy anymore, not that our Esmeralda is shy, but in any case you wondered, (and if it bothered you to some extent) here is the reason. I also made it clear in the summary SHE was drawn to HIM and vice versa. **

**Why? Because I can! And most of you seem to be enjoying it. Don't worry, the jealous, raging daunting Frollo is still at hand, be patient with me.**

**As always, thank you for you reading!**

* * *

They rode entirely in silence, passing suburban streets until the city's hustle and bustle thinned and only the dark countryside awaited them. The streets light led them with great gaps in umbras until finally they arrived at a gated property. The trip was short, filled with only the chorus of opera and the deep melancholy moans of an organ, but this was even barely audible under the hum of the car ride.

Esmeralda could tell he was a quiet man and that the voice that resonated across the auditorium in her class was put away when he retired to his home. She wasn't sure if it was out of nerves that he remained so taciturn, but it definitely applied to her condition. Her heart was hammering that he had actually obliged her.

For a reason she could not describe, her mind played the images of the looming cathedral and the heavy vibrations of its carillon. Their songs prickled her skin and she stole yet another glance his way. From the glow of the dashboard, he no longer set his mouth tight, but had relaxed as they took the narrow gravel driveway through the thicket.

The path broke towards the right and turned into a circle driveway. Lanterns illuminated the front door, their golden penumbra crept upward and delicately revealed the many windows and architect.

_Wealthy_, Esmeralda realized as she took in the sight of his homestead, or what she managed under the night's shadow. He stopped the car and killed the engine.

"Wait here," his voice order. She remained still as he stepped out and slammed his car door shut. His footsteps faded and then returned. He was at her side now, opening her door. He created a breadth for passage and she unbuckled herself and stepped out.

She muttered a thank you in which he replied with a contemplative sound before turning away and heading for the front door. He unlocked it and they went inside.

At first she was accosted by thick shadows but as the lights came on, she saw much similar decor that resided in his office. The furnishings were a stained black and overhead hung a large wrought iron chandelier. The floors were a polished golden wood and a staircase lined with red carpeting sat on the right side of the large foyer. Its banister was the gnarled patterns of a matching wrought iron. The light captured the second floor landing where she spotted an erected suit of armor; a double-bladed ax clutched in its hollowed hands. The ceilings were high and coffered with the matching black stained wood that sat below it.

_Wealthy, indeed_; her mind reminded her.

The house itself spoke of old money. Something touched her shoulders and she stilled. It was his fingers working the shoulders of her jacket, peeling it back. She allowed her arms to slip free from the sleeves. Her professor then shook the snowflakes from its folds and draped it onto a coat rack next to the door.

"I'm aware you are underage," his deep voice carried across the foyer. "Twenty, if I remember correctly."

"Yes, twenty." Esmeralda confirmed, tearing her eyes from the impressive decor and antique opulence.

"But I must admit I'm in the mood for a glass or two of wine. Would you care to join me?"

As if expecting her affirmation, he moved at the first nod, leading her into the hallway beneath the stairs. He brought her to a parlor filled with even darker shades of red. The mantel that surrounded the fireplace was a charcoal black with grave etchings. Each corners sported an open-mouthed head of a lion, and along the sides the carvings continued until it reached the floor. A cream settee with black molding sat in the middle of the parlor adjacent to a wooden coffee table. Esmeralda wondered if he preferred the old Victorian decor or perhaps they were family heirlooms that he didn't want to rid himself of.

"Please, have a seat." He gestured towards the settee.

Esmeralda sat down as he knelt before the fireplace. After a moment of adjustments, the flames took hold and Professor Frollo stepped back, dusting his hands of the ash and bracken.

"Now for the wine," he muttered.

He left the parlor as his footsteps echoed throughout the old house. The fire grew with conviction, lapping the innards of the mantel and flickering its light across the dim room. Esmeralda's eyes skimmed the parlor and its intricate lavishes. The walls were a dark sanguine pattern and a large antique mirror hung above the mantel, blemishes of age scarred the corners of its surface. The curtains were dark palls of heavy velvet that were parted, revealing the muted snowfall outside. As the shadows pirouetted around her, Esmeralda sat back in thought. This was no accident, she castigated humorously. He wanted her here as much as she wanted to be here. But he wasn't the type to starkly admit that, not with all that weighed in the balance. His job and her scholarship were in jeopardy. But what if he merely wanted to share a glass of wine in the warmth of a fireplace? What if he intended to take her home?

But what if he didn't? What else was in store for her and her Theology instructor?

The simple thought of Theology brought another wave of questions. What if he was pious?

_No_, her mind quickly rebuked. He wouldn't be sharing a glass of wine with a minor if he were.

But it's just a glass of wine, _nothing more._

_Or nothing less._

Did she have the inhibitions to keep things platonic?

"Ha!" she audible laughed, catching the remaining noise with the palm of her hand. Who was she kidding? Had she suddenly forgotten that she alone got herself into this predicament?

The figure of her professor caught her eye and she glanced up, embarrassed of her overt giddiness.

He stopped short at the entryway and regarded her in a studious manner. As if struggling within himself, his shoulders rose and fell with a soft sigh. He passed the threshold and came to seat himself next to her. She reveled when his cologne wafted over her and the heat came along his wake, its provenance unknown. Either the fire or the man.

He decanted two glasses and held his up. She took hers and touched sides with his. The clink rang out like a note before surrendering to the swooshes of the fire. They brought the rim of their glasses to their lips and sipped in unison.

It was a bitter taste and Esmeralda immediately cringed. Her hand came up to keep herself from spitting it back into the glass. Thickly, she swallowed the repulsive liquid down and it scorched a path towards her stomach.

When she glanced up, Professor Frollo was smirking.

"Do you not have a taste for wine?" He asked before taking a second sip, undeterred by its abhorrent flavor.

Esmeralda straight-faced and sat upright, bringing the glass back to her lips. Another tentative sip later, she managed to keep from grimacing under the harsh taste and met him with a steady resolve. She was a young woman not some inept child who couldn't handle of glass of wine, or two. She thought about admitting this was her first time tasting wine and how repulsive it was, but saw it best to keep that to herself.

After several minutes of battling her taste buds, the wine began to work its magic. She felt warmer and…fuzzy. Suddenly her nerves were burned away and replaced with a euphoric comfort. Her professor watched her with unwavering eyes, studying the language of her body while the wine relaxed her stance. Esmeralda gave him a smile as he sat his empty glass of wine down. He poured two more and they continued to drink.

* * *

Claude sat from his end of the settee and watched with a predatory gaze. She was going to be his, this was for certain. She'd come willingly, making folly inquiries that he had only dreamed of entertaining. Now she was here, with him, sharing the same air and warmth and it took everything he had to keep from smiling under this victorious feat. Albeit, calling it a feat was a stretch. The fortunate events had seemingly fell into his lap. And what a fool he would have been to turn it away!

He watched as she polished off her second glass of a twenty year old Merlot he found fitting for the evening.

Resigned, Claude remained at his end until she felt that she was ready to indulge her reasoning behind all the frivolous matters she had conjured. A creature this succulent and sought-after should not be visiting his parlor during a winter's night, sharing glasses of red wine amidst a warm flame. She was here for something, but what? Since her drunken phone call, he had been watchful of her grades and they were not suffering which told him she wasn't striving for extra credit.

The mystery of it was tumultuous and he hated the unknown. Would she simply tell him? Or would he have to beg it out of her?

Claude stifled the urge to scoff and reprimand her for coming to her professor's house. It was an unprofessional setting and the fact that he allowed it to get this far said largely about his character. But he was a man, and a weak one at that, especially in regards to the raven-haired maiden that observed like an object to be had.

His thoughts, once strong and filled with conviction and reason, waned and began weeping for release and sanity.

_Tell me_, he cried internally, contrast to his darkening countenance that appeared more collected than she. Then Esmeralda flashed him a smile and his resolve was banished like the sun from a night's sky. His heart fluttered and his lungs wheezed for air. A pressing came over the place of his poor heart as he watched her. Claude bet she was as soft as she appeared. His eyes roamed some more. He wanted to do some many things to her. God have mercy on her soul, he mused, unaware of the smirk upon his lips.

"What do you wish to acquire from this evening, Esmeralda?" Claude asked, tough it was a question, it came out harsh and bitter. She bit her lips and settled her gaze onto her empty glass, reflecting.

"I was hoping you could help me figure that out." she stated, dragging her eyes away from the glass and onto him.

Apprehension made an attempt to seize his thoughts, but he respired heavily and regained his pithiness. "You know this alone could grant us a great deal of trouble, my dear." Claude wasn't sure if it was because of the rumble of his voice, but the hair on the girls arms rose on end and she crossed her arms tightly.

She nodded and said, "I understand that. But," she paused, chewing her lip. "We haven't done anything wrong."

She faced him again and smiled. Behind him the fire licked and cracked, enticed by the smile itself.

Claude blinked, freeing himself from the spells that obtained him, suddenly aware of the pinching about his shoulders. He reached up and brushed his suspenders free and the agitate was gone. At this moment in time, Esmeralda kicked her heels off and brought her hands down onto the cushion of the settee, crawling towards him in a manner than a lioness would saunter towards an injured animal. She had worn a deep green dress that evening and her slender legs wore black stockings. A plaid scarf had been fashioned loosely around her neck.

Claude tried to react as she neared, but he found himself rooted in place, baffled and immobile at the tapering proximity. His heart was the only moving matter as she slipped into his lap. His fingers lost control and the wine glass fell from his hold, dropping softly onto the rug below them. And suddenly she was upon him. Her legs straddling his hips and her hands caressing his neck. On their own accord, his hands came to her hips as she dipped her head. Her raven hair fell forward, shrouding them in privacy so that not even the flames of the fire could witness this intimacy. He stared up at her, wide eyed and shocked with a muted tongue and gaping mouth.

This wasn't happening! he thoughts rebuked.

But as their lips met, and thank the heavens for his mouth moved appropriately, Claude Frollo felt for the first time what it meant to lose his soul.


	8. Keep My Glass Full Until Morning Light

**special thanks to rattlesnakedefender for inspiring a short bit of this long, long lemon (F*CK BUTTONS!). 17 hundred words of a passionate night. It took me all day! UGH! **

**As always, thanks for reading!**

* * *

Esmeralda made her first mistake believing Claude was at _her _mercy. Through the heavy thrumming of hearts and the pants between their lips, she wasn't expecting him to take control so suddenly. In an instant, she felt his arms wrap tightly around her waist, crushing her against him as their lips tangled. They were strong and probing, parting just enough to allow his tongue to dart in and explore. Against her mouth, he tasted of wine and she could smell the spice of his cologne radiating from his body. Its fragrance brought images of thick groves and old books. The urge to pull him against her almost overwhelmed Esmeralda. Her body was responding almost rabidly. She arched her back, pressing her bosom into his neck as they kissed.

She drank from him, tangling her fingers into his soft graying hair as he pawed feverishly at her body. His hands scoured her, gripping and exploring the depths of her breasts beneath her clothes and knotting into her thick hair. Oh, how much she wanted this! Not even consuming his very soul would be enough for her!

Her nails clawed at his blouse, fumbling for the buttons. Claude moved his hands in an effort to unbutton the blouse on his own, but out of frustration, he fisted the material and yanked. The buttons exploded out, shooting about the settee and bouncing upon the cushion where they necked. Her hands continued to explore, pushing the blouse back and brushing his smooth torso.

Esmeralda broke away from the kiss to scour his frame. He exuded a wintry skin tone, softly threaded with muscle like a braided rope. He was sinewy, accented by the dancing shadows derived from the fire. As she explored, caressing the plains of his skin, it prickled beneath her and a shuddering breath escaped him. She looked up, meeting his eyes and the mussed hair that fell in white tendrils about his hairline. The sight of this eloquent man now enraptured by the throes of passion excited her.

Their complexions were milk and caramel against each other, but warm all the same. Esmeralda met his mouth again, suckling upon his bottom lip. Her tongue ran across it and her teeth sank with delighted intent. She it tugged gently as Claude snaked a hand up her dress, slipping beneath her bra. He cupped her carefully and when his actions were met with a throaty moan, he retracted his hand and began fumbling the hem of her dress.

"Take this blasted drab off. I wish to see you." he demanded, the inflection of his deep voice scratching with need. He was just as nervous as she, but she obliged him by loosening the scarf about her neck and tossing it aside. Under the fire's light, his formidable mien became heightened. His stormy eyes were dark and malicious. A shadow danced along his hooked nose and followed the crevice of his mouth. A mouth that tasted succulent and sweet according to her.

The heat between her legs intensified, reminding her there was still plenty to be had. She peeled her dress away and immediately discarded her bra. The air bristled her skin, budding her nipples. Claude met them with his hands, kneading gently at first, but as Esmeralda arched into his touch, they grew confidently and he pressed fervently, pinching the dark pearls between his fingers. He then leaned forward and captured one into his wet mouth. Esmeralda clutched his head, pushing his face into her soft mound. The pleasure was unbearable, almost entirely too much to withstand. She issued a steam of sounds: whimpers, moan, gasps met with Claude's imploring tongue and firm lips.

She was necking with her professor and soon this heavy petting would lead to far more intimate matters. It was shocking to believe he was writhing beneath her with palpable need. Her professor. Her instructor. A man with sharp intellect and a position as her superior. His velvety voice was no longer siting the religions across the globe, but panting from kisses and desire, enticed by _her. _The same body that prowled the innards of the auditorium with calculating eyes, now grind a hard length between her legs. Hands once used to manipulate marker against board, cupped and kneaded her breasts firmly and yet, still gentle.

Esmeralda realized her surmounting lerchery, and the longer she withstood it, the more unbearable it became. Her hands came down and began working the buckle about his waist, freeing the constraint. And in a single yank, the leather was whipped free and tossed aside. The slack's button was loosened and she snaked her hand into the crotch of his trousers. Claude stilled beneath her with a muted gasped as her hand explored until finally...she groped him.

Her eyes widened in surprise as Claude shut his in pleasure, his head dropped back in a moan.

She held his sex, thick and heavy in her hand, ready to be slick from her own arousal. Her core quivered, hungry to be filled. Unable to endure the throbbing of her own heat, the cotton of her panties were pushed aside and she sank down. She felt his tip pushing at her entrance, a glistening oasis among a scorching desert. She brought her hands to his bare shoulders and allowed gravity to do the rest. There was a slight resistance, and finally he pushed into her, filling her to the brim and stealing the air from her lungs.

Her head dropped back, mouth slack for a throaty moan but the pleasure was too surmounting to make a sound. With her mouth parted and brow furrowed, she rocked her hips, taking his length entirely. Her body made a slight protest at his girth but the more she moved against him, stroking his length within her, the further her clenching walls began to yield.

A throaty moan rumbled within Claude's chest. He snaked an arm around her waist while the other cupped her cheek gently, forcing their eyes and thus, their souls, to regard each other through this incandescent intimacy. His dark eyes bore into her with a pleading countenance that weighed heavily upon her heart. He was falling, she realized. With every push and pull of his length, slick and engorged, this callous man was melting as if Esmeralda was born of fire herself. She stroked him with her warm center until his breaths came out choppy and shallow.

Were they having sex or making love? Esmeralda wondered. No, certainly not. He was a grown man, capable of reigning in his emotions when the physical threshold collapsed. This was all it was, meeting that physical hunger they both starved for from one another.

_No strings attached_, Esmeralda told herself.

Claude's hold along her body grew firmly and his breathing became erratic. One hand grasped a breast firmly while the other anchored at her hip. He urged her motion along, pushing and pulling at her rump, eagerly.

Biting his lip as she rode him, Claude lowered his head and gripped her thighs, slowing her progress.

"Slow down," he choked out, "I cannot last much longer."

Esmeralda grinned, and reached for his hand. She guided it between her legs, and pressed the pad of his thumb against her swollen nub. He swallowed, eyeing her with large curious pools of grey. Had he ever touched a woman there? Was she his first?

"Right there," she gasped at the immediate pressure being applied. "Like that," she moaned.

His thumbed worked slow circles as Esmeralda rocked her hips. Her sex was tightening around him, a pressure building rapidly within.

"Keep going," she begged, no longer able to maintain a controlled motion of her hips. She swayed and rocked, taking him deeply and withdrawing while his thumb continued in tight orbits around her nub.

"Esmeralda," Claude gasped, his other hand squeezing at her hip with a vise hold. He was losing the fight, the struggle to withstand the pressing orgasm was becoming vain.

She could hear him, as well as feel him inside her, engorging, stiffening with each quick stroke she brought upon him, but he had not stopped. He still rubbed against her, making her breaths shallow and fast. The pressure was climbing, filling her from her core into her chest and spilling out of her mouth with a sharp cry. The climax shattered her whimpering disposition.

Claude bucked, gasping and lifting his hips from the settee as her core clenched and flexed. Another warmth blossomed within her and Claude found he couldn't hold back his tongue. A staggering moan punched passed his lips as his hands pulled her down, grinding her against him. He held her tight as his own zenith racked his frame.

Esmeralda rode the climax to its end, clenching his quivering shaft within her while pleasure resonated through her body like waves. A hand came up, brushing her cheek and luring her to his mouth. She came to him with depth of desire she was unaware of possessing. Her senses were at a pinnacle. She could hear his labor of his breathing, sated and spent. The smell of sex, a sweet and musty heat with traces of sweat, filled the air. He kissed her with enough passion to thrill her already rapid heart, tracing his lips down her jawline and following her neck. He pulled her close, still twitching inside her, and nuzzled the thickness of her dark hair, still reeling from the orgasm, still moaning, and trembling beneath her.

For a moment, Esmeralda loved him, her _soul_ loved him. But the thought was unwarranted and she quickly discarded it singularly on her body's satiation. She went to move, lifting up from his lap, but Claude protested and quickly seized her, pulling her back against him. She laughed as she wrapped her arms around his neck loosely, pressing him into her bare breasts. It both scared and excited Esmeralda how much she desired from a man she knew so little about. She wanted his words and his touch, to harvest his warmth and use it to feed her heart that panged on the vibrations of his voice and the weight of his gaze. How did she become such a savage when it came to Claude Frollo? What differed between him and the rest of the men that attempted courting her? And what would be of them afterwards? Was this a one night stand for him? For her, even?

_Later_, she told herself, coddling closer as they recuperated from their sated passion.

Later when the wine's effect waned and the concision of her thoughts returned, Esmerala would wonder. For now, Claude turned her about his lap and stood, one arm supported her back while the other hooked at the bend of her knees. He carried like bride to his bedroom where they made love a second time and fell asleep within each others' arms.


	9. Let Me Give You My Life

_Take me to church_

_I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies_

_I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife_

_Offer me that deathless death_

_Good God, let me give you my life_

* * *

Claude Frollo refused to glance at the clock to know the _exact_ number of his suffering hours. For now, he gazed at the slumbering minx at his side, sated and nude, ready for his disposal. _Always ready_, he mused, and what a pretty, pretty little thing she was. Her hair fanned out in a pool of ink, the ends curling in great swoops, eyelashes feather-thick resting upon hazelnut cheeks.

Beneath his pale chest his heart wrenched tightly and he tore his gaze from Esmeralda towards the window where the snowfall had continued.

It was both enticing and terrifying, all the same. How could such a flawless creature show such affection towards he? What did he do? How did he do it? Had he said something differently, perhaps inconceivable of his characteristics? He shifted slightly, turning away as the insecurity of his doubts sapped him dry. No matter where he glanced or what his eyes focused on, he could only think of her. He could feel her from where he sat, hear her even. The softness of her breath as she slept, the heat emitting from her like a sun lost in the blackness of a barren galaxy.

But lost no longer, for he had found her.

And with this sun he shall worship.

* * *

Claude heard midnight and jolted awake as the grandfather clock downstairs began its chime. From below and through several walls, it was a muted carrion and not loud enough to stir the woman wrapped in his arms.

Claude blinked.

For a second, he was confused and disoriented, perhaps still stuck within a dream. It wasn't every day he woke to a woman in his arms so he dared not stir for fear he may snap awake. But as the melody continued to lull below, the inevitable clarity came to him and he found himself not within a dream's state. The moment he stepped free from this drowsy spell, his mind relayed the previous night and it swelled his heart to the point of discomfort. It was not a dream. He had shared his bed with a student for the first time in the twenty years of his teaching, but he could not gather the shame or humility that such actions should warrant.

He turned his head and pressed his lips into the tresses of her dark hair. He took a slow breath, pulling her scent into his lungs, revelling in the silky threads against his lips. Everything about Esmeralda was lovely. The tumble of obsidian that fell in great swooping curls about her shoulders and chest. The green of her eyes that shone like an emerald fire. The warmth of her caramel color against his wintry skin.

Without realizing it, Claude had pulled her closer and stirred the woman awake. He stilled as she began to move. Her head then tilted up and he felt the brush of her lips against his. His body responded feverishly but he reined in his surmounting desire as she turned back away and fell into another sleep. He let out a slow breath and cursed the hardness that laid across his thigh.

Within him, his body quaked. There was something ghastly about this creature inside him, brought to life by the enticing Esmeralda. He was never so brazen, so foolish, or so _free_ from his own constraints. She was his sun, and he was a tree, bursting from the prisons of earth, stretching towards the sky like an animal stripped of its chains.

Claude could not sleep a wink longer. His heart had yet to calm within his chest as Esmeralda laid against him. He didn't know how much more he could wait for her to wake naturally. He wanted her up and now. The sun was rising and the birds had been singing well before. As he waited less than patiently, Claude realized he wanted to make her breakfast. He wanted to bathe her, dress her, cater to her. He wanted her physically, emotionally, and mentally, as well as any other realm that could be had that would make her entirely his. It was only Saturday morning. They had plenty of hours ahead to share with another. None of which would be communed outside, unless they were to traverse his gardens and the path he created within his property woods. Until they were official with their intentions for one another, they would remain in secret.

Claude did not wish to share the outside world his precious gift. She had come to him knowing rightfully where she belonged, and here she would stay. Education was important, indeed. This he could negotiate, but under certain conditions. He was a professor. He could teach her everything she wanted to know at no expense at all. Just as long as she remained his, but he had a feeling this would be no issue.

Esmeralda stirred again. Her eyes fluttered open and then eased shut as she pulled away from him and turned onto her back. A bit of the bed sheet slipped down and exposed her bare chest for Claude's enjoyment. Though she was every bit distracting, his mind was still on a firm track. He reached out and brush his fingers down the valley of her breast, the flattening of her sternum beneath sunkissed flesh while still conjuring ways that she could be his forever. There was a subtle furrow along the plains of her skin with perpendicular threads of muscle. He remembered how taut she was as she rode atop of him. How the fire painted the contours of her youthful body with erotic shadows and a hellish glow.

_God, I love her. _Claude thought with such zealous he clenched his jaw and retracted his hand.

It was all backwards now, but again, he found little reason to worry. He reminded himself that _she_ had come to _him._ This alone provided a great deal of security. He could look passed the unorthodox nature of their relationship. The sex before the marriage, that is.

Of course, this would mean he would need a divorce first.


	10. You're Going to Love Him

**[A:N] Wow guys! I mean WOW! I hadn't anticipated such positive feedback all at once! I really can't thank you all enough, honestly. You guys put me on cloud nine. Enjoy!**

* * *

Esmeralda woke to a chorus of birds outside flittering under a cold morning light. Her eyes eased open, spotting the coffered ceiling first and then the ghostly morning rays shining across the room. She found the bed empty, but a door straight ahead, which proved to be a bathroom, was shut and the light within it was on. She figured Claude was on the other side. Gathering the sheet around her, she made-do of it into a gown before sliding out of bed. She aimed for the window where the music and shine derived. Once there, wrapped in a bedsheet with her mussed hair pulled to one shoulder, she found herself upon the second floor of Claude's estate, though she didn't recall having taken stairs the night before. Alongside that, there was a subtle pounding about her temples, she assumed this was the after effects of too many glasses of wine. Having experienced the bitter concoction and its nasty side effects, she swore never to have another sip so long as she lived.

Further parting the sheer curtains, she took in the view. The back of the house faced east where the sun made slow ascent. There was a wide garden, but not much growth had been obtained from the pressing snowfall. The vines that crawled heavenward were bare against their supporting trellises. A wooden framed arbor shrouded in the skeleton of vines sat in the back portion of the property; a gateway into the grove beyond. The sun had reached a height that allowed escape through the thicket and sent the blanket of white into a gleaming spectacle. In its wake were the wisps of a morning fog flowing carefully along the cold ground. A fountain centered behind the house amidst the envelope of snow was iced over. Stalagmites of ice fell from the basin towards the frozen pool below it.

A heavenly glow fully illuminated the back property, further igniting the snow until the morning light kissed the bottom of the brick estate.

As Esmeralda continued to watch the winter sunrise, she reflected. Not that Claude was an obstacle to be conquered, however, bedding a man with the air and address of a gentleman proved to be quite the honor. With her age and being a student, she found majority of her counter sexes similar in physical growth, but lacking in mindset and maturity. Sure, she enjoyed the occasional outing paired with a drink or two. The loud music. The gyrating of bodies and sweat. These were all fun to her. But now as she stood in the master bedroom of a college professor whose garden stretched into acres of woods, who owned a Jaguar and lived in an impressive manor on the outskirts of town, she realized no amount of parties or twenty-something year old guys could tend to her like Claude did. Nor would twenty-somethings possess the poise and distinguishment that this man lived by. She thought back to the moment she had crawled into his lap, the expression upon his face, and the moment their lips met. She woke something inside of him. Perhaps it was because of how young and vital she was. She brought him to a prime in his life where these things happened frequently. She knew she had the beauty and grace to lure any man she wanted. Albeit, most men she enticed were not twice her age or her professor. But when it came to Claude, she almost feared he was unsusceptible to her charm. And after some subtle coaxing and a little more effort on her part, she got him. And from here, she intended to keep him.

For a moment, Esmeralda relished in the idea that perhaps she was a woman and not a girl. A woman craved men, not boys. As she stared into the vast property of Claude's estate, she smiled victoriously. Just hours ago she had fretted the untold future, worried even that this would turn into a one night stand. But having felt his arms around her throughout the night, his breath upon her neck and the soft caresses he combed through her hair, she knew it was more than just physical. He most certainly cared, even if he did not vocalize his affections. They were apparent, nonetheless.

"What did you expect to happen?" The voice was sudden and near startling. It broke the silence with a rich resonance, deeper from the scratches of sleep. When she turned she found he was dressed in only a towel.

Sinewy and still a wintry pale. She took a mental picture of Claude as he stood in the dawning light, waiting. He had no hair on his chest or much elsewhere sans the silver mop about his head, tousled from sleep. She recalled running her fingers through those locks, tugging at his bottom lip gently between her teeth and feeling the rumble of a moan vibrate his chest.

Esmeralda bit into her cheek to keep from smiling even though his countenance spoke of mild amusement. Perhaps he was struggling with the reality of this as well. She hoped so.

Tightening the hold around the sheet that encased her body, she drew away from the window and sauntered towards him.

"What did I expect?" she began, now toe-to-toe with the austere man. Under bedroom eyes, she gazed at him while her fingers began tracing from his pelvic line upward. She licked her lips, tucking the bottom behind her teeth for a seductive bite. "I asked a kind man to give me a ride, and _he did._"

Her hand glided over the planes of his chest, curved around his neck and settled at the nape. From there, she pulled him inward while dropping the sheet. Their bare chest met and he melted his lips to hers. A second later, the towel dropped and Claude took her hand and led her into the bathroom where a shower awaited.

* * *

When Esmeralda returned to campus, she found her dormitory surprisingly empty. Her weekend had come to an unfortunate close, leaving Claude within his estate and returning to the dry walls of her dorm. This is where she expected to find a heated rebuke from Nadia.

But Nadia was no where to be found.

Esmeralda found her own bed in a disarray and the closet wide open with shoes strewn across the floor. Nadia's bed was also unmade but this was nothing new. Esmeralda moved towards the window above her dorm mate's bed and peered outside. Like her, several students were returning to the campus, having some means to leave the university over the weekend. Now that she had her own, her thirst for freedom broadened greatly. With it being in the presence of such a daunting man, returning to the bland walls of her dorm seemed more like a cell than a homestead. Her body ached to be within his graces again, tangled beneath the sheets or kissing under a scorching spray of water.

The door behind her clicked as Esmeralda drew away from the window. Startled, she spun around, plopping onto her posterior as Nadia came through the entrance with a man in tow.

She did a double take as she rose from the bed to ensure it was a man and not the trick of the light. From the time she met Nadia at a diners several years back, the girl clung to the claim of homosexuality. Not that Nadia despised men, it's just every flavor Nadia introduced to Esmeralda came in the form of long hair and pert breasts. Some were burly women, though. But then again, others were painstakingly beautiful. There was no in between when it came to Nadia. But as she stepped passed the threshold of their tiny dorm room, Esmeralda studied the athletic figure in hope to find it a female with a five o'clock shadow.

But alas, it was not.

His hair was an inky black and cut short near the ears and the top was styled messy. His smile was charmingly crooked with dimples to go alongside. He was broad as he was handsome. A polar opposite of the man Esmeralda had taken such keen interest in. Nadia spotted her and any remnants of rebuke she had had dissipated.

"There you are!" she beamed, dropping her purse onto the floor. She bounded forward, jumping onto the bed with Esmeralda. The girl pulled her into a firm embrace and kissed her cheek several times.

"How was your weekend?" she breathed with tangible excitement, but before Esmeralda responded, she interjected with a sudden exclaim. "Oh my gosh! I forgot to introduce you! Remy, this is Esmeralda. Esmeralda, this is my friend, Remy."

They exchanged half-hearted hellos and uncomfortable smiles while Esmeralda waited for the inevitable punch line. This was all it was; a joke. Esmeralda had seen countless of men falling at the feet of Nadia for even a parting glance bit she was too busy chasing skirts. But after an awkward silence, and the shifting exchange of eyes, she realized it was not a joke and Nadia was now playing both fields.

"So!" Esmeralda forced a laugh, "How did you two meet? Are you a student here?"

"Ugh," Nadia began. "We met at the football game. He's part of the team! Aren't you, Remy?"

Remy nodded, running a tanned hand through his hair. "Yeah, I'm a running back."

"Cool," Esmeralda replied with faux interest, noticing his long sleeve shirt was too tight for the biting weather. "What are you majoring in?"

He muttered something about sport's medicine or physical thera-whatever, she stopped listening.

"Well, that's cool." she lied, forcing another smile. "Are you two?" she gestured her eyes between Nadia and Remy and they both smiled bashfully.

"We're just friends." Nadia said, whimsically.

Still smiling, Esmeralda forced the air from her lungs through her nose. She had no problem with football players, but like every athlete within a popular college, they had their drawbacks. Either they swore of dating entirely, which was unlikely, or they submerged themselves in it and caused more trouble than they were worth. Remy was handsome, no doubt. And Nadia was a gorgeous Mediterranean beach goddess who Esmeralda thought preferred other women.

But perhaps not. Winter does funny things to people. Esmeralda would know.

"Oh, hey!" Remy suddenly began, an idea striking. "Are you currently seeing anyone?"

Esmeralda blinked when she realized she was being addressed. Nadia shot a look, narrowing her eyes at Esmeralda whether she meant to or not.

This was it. A moment she needed to regard her current situation as truth, or fantasy. Everything between her and Claude was _very_ real. The heat. The sex. The pleasure from something so taboo. But she was young and he was not. She wanted to slap a label across it and claim him as her own, but what if he was having a midlife crisis? What if she was there just to make him feel young again? It had happened so fast and she had never felt more willing to board the bullet train to see where it led. She swallowed thickly as images of Claude pressing her against the bathroom wall flashed across her mind. If she confirmed her unavailability, Nadia would pry. And if anyone was successful at prying out information, it would be her. On top of that, Claude made her promise she wouldn't speak of their affairs until the conditions were just right. But what constitutes as just right? And to whose conditions?

Before her thoughts could struggle from her grasp and run a muck, she remembered who she was; the green-eyed girl who dances beneath a full moon, who's charm alone could swindle the most callous of hearts. Claude was hers, whether he realized that or not. It was just a single night, nothing to get too carried away with. Claude was most likely an old fashioned man who courted women. This took time and effort from both parties. Albeit, there was nothing _traditional _about their first night together.

"Nope!" Esmeralda laughed nervously, hoping to thwart any suspicion of deception. "Just your run of the mill cat lady."

"Okay good, because I thought you were following that crusty old profess-" Esmeralda slapped Nadia across the back hard enough to extinguish her lungs of air and then pretended to rub her supportively.

"Nope! Got a phone call from my brother, I stepped out to answer it." Esmeralda cut her off.

"It took you all weekend to step out and answer a phone call?" Nadia rebuked.

"I took a taxi and went to see him." Esmeralda deadpanned. "It's that alright with you?"

"Alright, guys." Remy butted in, evidently spotting a potential argument. "A few of the guys are having a house party. My buddy bought a place downtown and wants to have a get together. He's single and a pretty decent guy and he's the captain of the football team." Remy bounced his eyebrows suggestively at Esmeralda, as if his peer's position made all the difference in her decision.

"So?" Esmeralda said.

"So I think you'd like him."

"What's he look like?" Nadia then inquired, suddenly on board the spontaneous date-doctor wagon.

"My height, so about 6'2''. Blonde, pretty built, has a patch of hair here." Remy reached up and scratched the area around his chin.

Esmeralda sighed, having already decided she wasn't interested. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm really not in the position to be dating. I've got a lot of studying-,"

"No," Nadia straight-faced. "You owe me! You _ditched_ me at the season's first football game and you're not even taking difficult classes. You don't even have a major picked out! So don't give me that baby back bullshit." She shot Remy a look. "I know Esmeralda and I _know_ she's been single for quite sometime." She reached over and pulled Esmeralda into a reluctant embrace and with a baby voice, she said, "My little bohemian needs to get laid!"

"This isn't about getting laid," grumbled Esmeralda. How wrong they were. Whoever this mystery man was, she highly doubted he had anything worth to offer, not after her experience with Claude.

"Alright, so I'll let you two girls to it." Remy then stepped in to give Nadia a kiss upon the lips before turning away for the door. He stopped short of the threshold when Nadia's voice quickly called out.

"Wait! What's the guys name? Or is that part of the mystery?"

Remy chuckled. "His name's Phoebus and you're going to love him."


	11. The Girl With Lavender Hair

Twilight was upon them. The foretelling overcast had moved west, taking with it the perpetual snowfall and ice. Its absence revealed a heaven of inferno oranges and deep indigo. Esmeralda and Nadia were currently in the backseat of a cab en route to their destination. Remy had left in advance, having his own transportation and stated he would meet them there.

Nerve stricken and under second guess, Esmeralda sat quietly in her seat. She wrung her hands within her lap and stared unwaveringly out the side window, having nothing really focus upon. Her gut wrenched and flopped in her belly as the shadow of trees passed across the evening sky. Tomorrow was school and she hadn't been keen on staying out late on a school night. The effects of Claude's ardor had not waned and all that occupied her mind was how soon she could see him again. Would it feel any different seeing him in such an intimate light? Would it be obvious or did his bearing give him justice? Her heart fluttered and her hands squeezed at one another at the thought. Part of her wanted it to be a normal day, but another part of her, more prominent than anything else, wanted to see how dangerously close they could become before getting caught.

Though, getting caught was entirely out of the question. Hypothetically speaking.

Nadia on her left kept pace with the conversation upfront, interjecting her two cent whenever need be, and had not taken notice to Esmeralda's disinclination towards the late gathering. She began to chew on her bottom lip as they turned into a narrow street within a suburb.

She knew this area very well. Fraternities and sororities lined both sides of the road and the familiarity alone reminded her of a summer they had spent wading the pools and warranting evenings of beer pong with their peers.

She wondered what Claude would have thought of her had she taken Theology her starting year. Her absence would have been a red flag on his part. He probably would have looked down his nose at her and indirectly scold her among the class, reprimanding the importance of attending his instruction if they wished to pass his lecture.

Absentmindedly, her knee rose, brushing her thighs together as she reminisced her nights together with him. The incentive lured the proverbial butterflies within her belly and she smiled. Something brushed her shoulder and she closed her eyes, further musing. It reminded her how warm he was lying next to her, trailing faint fingertips down the planes of her skin, starting at her shoulder and down. When those delicate but deft touches found her hip, he had gripped them firmly, pushing her onto her stomach. She obliged, then hiking a leg as his movements lowered until he found the petals of her sex.

Esmeralda made a subtle gasp when Nadia tugged lightly at her shoulder. She snapped free of her reverie and stared with an irritated scowl.

"We're here." Nadia declared, throwing open the door as she tossed a few bills in the direction of the driver. They crawled out of the cab and regarded the two story Victorian before them. Every light was on and bass music rattled its innards and spilled out onto the front porch. Several people loitered the front as others came and went from inside. A flag flopped defeated against its tether while a gamut of lawn chairs sat against a bare front lawn still riddled with snow.

They was led inside where even more bodies churned and the air was stifling. There was a melangé of fragrances ranging from cheap perfume, sweat and the stank of pot. The music was even more deafening from inside with heavy throes of bass that rattled her teeth and the cavity of her chest. Without realizing, she wrapped her arms around herself to ward off any potential interaction. What was once an ideal weekend for Esmeralda had quickly turned into an unwarranted affair. She didn't want to be here with these people under these circumstances and whoever this Phoebus happened to be, she was sure he didn't need her company in the slightest.

A girl with pixie short hair the color of lavender stumbled into Esmeralda. In an attempt to right the girl, her arms came out and seized the stranger by the shoulders in hope to prevent a fall. Her eyes met that of pale blues rimmed in red and she smelled pungent of whiskey. Her lips were full and painted black with a slight smudge at the corner. Though she was dressed in a lacy sort with capri pants and sandals, her innocent get up was stark against her aggressive disposition when she yanked herself from Esmeralda's care.

"I know you," the girl slurred, pulling at the collar of Esmeralda's jacket as she leaned in. Together they stumbled back until Esmeralda's back met a wall. "You're that fucking cunt who fucked my fiance."

Esmeralda blinked with incredulous shock as her hands came up to release the grip about her collar. She'd never seen the girl before in her life. If she were a student, there would be no telling how they met or if Esmeralda had anything to do with the lass.

Esmeralda quickly explained this; that the provenance of her blame lied elsewhere and not assigned to Esmeralda.

The girl overtly refused this claim with a muffled word, "Bullshit."

She released Esmeralda's collar on her own accord and took a staggering step back. "Don't you remember, bitch?" she slurred again, pointing a manicured finger that waned left and right. "I caught you sucking him off in the back of his truck." Her eyes lids went heavy and she blinked slowly enough to convince Esmeralda she had fallen asleep standing. But then they popped open and she swung open handed, striking Esmeralda blindsided across the face.

There was a simultaneous gasp as bystanders took a step back, creating enough breadth to formulate a ring of space.

There was several inflictions. The girl had raked her nails across Esmeralda's face, leaving narrow welts of discomfort that, upon investigation and quick discovery, created tiny beads of blood. Seeing this mottle upon her fingertips when she retracted her hand somehow sent her over the edge. Pain was always a swift spell for disaster. A fire had ignited and her feral green eyes turned seething. The Romani wrath that traversed her veins went ablaze and she casually stepped away from the wall. The eye closest to the injury watered and the muscles beneath it began to twitch. She looked deranged, felt it even.

The pixie laughed, beckoning Esmeralda with a twitch of her fingers. "Come on, bitch."

Phones were whipped out from purses and pockets and the recording commenced as Esmeralda shrugged her jacket off and swung.


	12. Feeble Doofus

The first punch was solid.

The crown of lavender bucked back from the blow and blood immediately sprang forth, gushing from both nostrils and sending the girl into a pratfall. Her black nails came upward, hoping to catch the blood that poured from her grimace but only in vain. It flowed down her mouth and chin, collecting around the opening of her blouse. The infliction had issued a strangled yelp of surprise.

Though her countenance was now a mixture of blood and tears, she gathered back to her feet and swallowed a sob. With the back of her hand, she wiped away the blood and gave a collected scowl. Her composure waned slightly, giving her away by a trembling lip.

For a brief moment, Esmeralda considered reconciling their misunderstanding but she found herself more irritated than forgiving. She didn't want to be here. She wanted to be with Claude, or the very least, back at the dorms, not here in some stranger's house, getting accosted the moment she walked through the front door.

Along the side of Esmeralda's face, the scratches continued to burn, keeping the anger within pace of her rapidly beating heart. People were cheering, encouraging this primitive behaviour with catcalls and howls, clapping and jutting fists into the air. How did she become so acclimated to this setting? What about all this did she find _fun_? Notre Dame was a vast campus with thousands of students and faculty. She could go to the same party every weekend and fail to see a familiar face. But it wasn't their familiar faces to be remembered this night, but hers. No doubt this would spread like a wildfire fire scorching across parched plains.

And here was this girl reprimanding her and attempting overt humiliation on an follied assumption. It'd been well passed a year since Esmeralda had been with another man. That being her ex whom she loathed with the deepest rue down to the marrow of her bones, but that was neither here nor there. Unless this girl was speaking of Claude Frollo, who didn't own a truck, they had no direct correlation.

The girl was readying herself as the blood continued to slip over her lips. She looked deranged and utterly inebriated with flushed cheeks and glistening eyes. Which, in turn, made Esmeralda cringe in wonder; did she ever look this asinine? Surely if she had Nadia would bring this to clarity so she could swindle the last remnants of her dignity and be on her way. Where was this girl's Nadia? And what was the ruckus transpiring in the back of the house? There, a moment of distraction.

One by one heads began to turn as a shouting was heard. It surpassed the deafening music and tapered the chants into an uncomfortable and shameful murmur. She heard the man before she saw him as he shoved his way towards the front of the brawl where Esmeralda and the pixie confronted one another.

It was during this time, she was accosted again.

Blinded, Esmeralda felt the impact hit her side and together, they fell to the floor in a struggling heap. The rowdiness of the crowded returned like a clamoring detonation. Flashes of light filled the interior of the home as more phones were produced and the chanting returned like a chorus of havoc.

Esmeralda was now at a disadvantage. She was on her back with the girl straddling her torso as they struggled. The pixie's hands were swinging wildly, open-palmed and batting Esmeralda at the chest and upward towards her head. Esmeralda had her arms up, blocking majority of the strikes but alas, some managed to slip passed the guard and make contact with her head. Her ear was cuffed hard enough that a tone began to ring in her ear.

Then the weight was gone and Esmeralda opened her eyes as Nadia pulled the girl from on top of her by the hair. The girl fell back ineptly as Esmeralda attempted to get to her feet when a second pair of arms picked her up off the floor entirely. When the floor disappeared from beneath her and the world pivoted at an unnatural axis, she was tossed over a shoulder and escorted away, leaving the fuss as Nadia and Remy dragged the drunk from the foyer out into the front yard.

Beside herself, and bemused at the sudden and unwarranted confiscation, Esmeralda began to thrash within the hold. Her shouting came as obscenities and harsh remarks at the culprit who currently taxiied her towards the back of the house. She kicked and bucked, digging her nails into his thick shoulders but he only held tighter as they retreated from the foyer. The many faces watched as she was carted away until they turned a corner and entered into a bathroom. The door slammed and she was placed carefully onto her feet.

As soon as she touched down, she turned and shoved the man back with enough force he stumbled into the closed door. She meant to push him out of the way and make a speedy exit, but his back knocked against the frame emitting a rattling issue as the door vibrated along its threshold.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, catching her by the shoulders. He steered her away and for the first time since she was picked up and relocated, she noticed the blonde tresses and the tuft of hair about his chin. Out of sheer defiance, she jerked out of his hold and stepped back. Her nerves were frayed, making her heart hammer against her ribcage and her breathing quick and shallow. The welts across her face hadn't lost their perpetual sting. She knew they were there, glaring at probing eyes, and reigniting the anger she so desperately wished to placate.

"Hey," he said again, more softly. "Are you alright? Let me take a look at you."

He came forward with extended arms but she dismissed his intentions by stepping back again until her legs met the porcelain boundaries of a bathtub.

"No, I'm fine." Esmeralda mumbled, tentatively touching the raised marks across her face with her fingertips.

"Are you sure?" He leaned to the side to gain a better view for inspection and settled with a shake of his head. "At least let me clean it and you can be on your way. I'm really sorry about that. She's not my friend, I don't know who she is, really…"

Esmeralda rose her hands, gesturing him to stop explaining. It mattered not how or when, or who the girl was. All she could think about was how she wished she had said no to it all.

"I'm very, very sorry." she heard him say. He was a broken record. He was also standing in the way of the door and this irritated her.

"It's fine." she told him, her voice like flint. "I just need to get out of here and call a cab. This was stupid coming out on a Sunday night."

When she glanced up at him she found him with a tilted and rather curious countenance. Their eyes met and he held them there, allowing his cobalt pools to roam her face. She cringed, insecurely, being hyper-aware of the rows of scratches that lined her face.

"What's your name?" he asked, gently. He reached over a sink on his right and opened a medicine cabinet disguised as a mirror.

"Esmeralda," she grumbled.

He smiled, "I'm Phoebus." He plucked a small white bottle with an orange cap from the shelves.

She wanted to admit her prior knowledge, instead she settled on a nod and said, "Pleasure to meet you. I should be going."

For the second time since their newly obtained acquaintance, Esmeralda made another attempt for the door. But Phoebus was having none of that.

He dropped back against the door, much like his stumble from earlier and jutted a finger at her. "Not before I clean it, understand? Promise me?"

She crossed her arms and glared.

"Promise me." he said, more definitively.

A muscle in Esmeralda's jaw ticked and she rolled her eyes.

"Fine," she grumbled.

* * *

**Feeble Doofus!**

**Also, quick question. How long is too long for a chapter? What's a short chapter to you guys and what's too long? I try getting out at least a thousand words before submitting the chapter, but if you want, say, 2000-3000, I can do that as well. I don't want to starve you guys with words if the chapters are too short! BUT JUST KNOW..MORE WORDS MEAN EVEN DEADLIER CLIFFHANGERS.**

**I do it because I love you.**


	13. Lucky Number XIII

_There was a monster in the shadows. She was sure of it. What else could it be? Nothing could explain the unnatural lurch to its gait or the beastial moan that fumbled over its hellish maw. It rose and fell against the shadows, slipping through the darkness, separate of it but still unified._

_Fear had laced around Esmeralda's ankles, snaking its cold touch up her legs, and anchoring her to the drafty floor beneath her. Her feet were bare. Her arms shaking. Her frantic heart was the only thing that had the power to move. Rapidly it hammered a reprise of fear and haplessness as the entity loomed closer. An arduous breath grating its lung with every inhale and exhale as it traveled. It was closer now._

_In the darkness, she stood too frightened to move, too enraptured by the abnormal order before her. A massive paw reached out from the abyss. L__ight captured thick fingers with copper hair that dusted its knuckles and followed upward upon a pale muscular arm._

_Gently, it took her hand._

_She wanted to scream, to yank her hand back, and flee the oppressing darkness; the monster before her. She began to tremble and somewhere within her she felt the bubbling genesis of a scream. She needed a release. She was drowning in her own hysteria, making it difficult to breath, to think, to survive. She needed to move. She needed to get out. It was going to kill her, surely. _

_Still, it had her hand, luring it towards the shadow from where it concealed itself. She watched in horror as her hand was guided towards its face..and then it..._

* * *

Esmeralda snapped awake the moment Phoebus planted a kiss upon her knuckles. She snatched her hand free without thinking and sat upright.

"Where am I?" she asked, nearly snapping the words as she jarred awake. She wasn't at her dorm. Nadia was no where to be found. What day was it? Was he trying to kiss her hand? "What are you doing?" Her voice was a faint croak and her throat felt worn and stressed.

"Waking you up," he told her with a charming smile that nearly assuaged the panic of her heart and mind. She blinked and glanced about. She was draped across a large bed that wasn't hers and the light of the sun was creeping midway across the adjacent wall. It must be around nine, she thought.

"Where am I?" she asked after swallowing thickly. Her mouth was dry and her head swam in a vertigo.

"You're at my place." he said, standing from his knelt position. His knees popped. He was at her bedside wearing only a pair of black basketball shorts. His hair was damp when she glanced up and for a moment, she considered appreciating the sight but a twisting discomfort in her stomach yanked her back. Her hand came out from under the covers and pressed into her abdomen when the pain didn't secede.

She was hung over judging by the unease of her stomach, the tired friction against her eyes, and the ache that resonated throughout her frame. The nausea pitched and she clenched her teeth, taking in a slow breath. She was going to vomit. There was no stopping it.

Throwing the covers back quickly, she fumbled out of bed and hurried for the bathroom, still steamed from Phoebus' shower. She slammed the door on her way in and fell to her knees as the spell came. She knew where she was now. A house party Nadia insisted they attend, despite Esmeralda's disinclination. She recalled the fight, or whatever it was, with the drunk girl. And here was Esmeralda, bent over the toilet seat, just as shameful as she. She remembered now, deciding to stay, despite Nadia's meek protest. She knew Nadia wanted the room to herself. It was still something Esmeralda would need getting used to. She'd only seen her with other women. She wondered what made that change or if she was always open to both sexes.

The sickness came swiftly and finished, leaving Esmeralda panting and miserable on the bathroom floor. Her legs were bare and she wore an oversized t-shirt. A soft knocking sounded at the door.

Her eyes stared at her bare legs with wonder. Her hands tugged at the fabric that encased her. This article did not belong to her. Where were her clothes?

She glanced upward in thought, attempting to recall the last stitches of memory. She must have drank too much, but she rarely lost her memory.

She stood, careful to counter the unlikeliness of her balance and rinsed her mouth out. When she returned to the bedroom, she found Phoebus sitting upon his bed, lacing his shoes.

"Did we have sex?" There, she said it. It was the first thing that came to mind and the most important to clarify.

Phoebus met her eyes, softening at the corners. "Of course not." he chuckled. "You were sloshed last night. I've never seen a girl dance so well being as drunk as you were." Another laugh, throaty and resonating. He placed his foot down and rested his arms across his lap. "Are you okay? Do you need some water?"

Her head was throbbing but she was fine. If she just stayed here, leaning against the frame of the door with the cool wood against her skin, she'd be alright. She took a steady deep breath and spoke:

"I need to call a cab. What time is it?"

Phoebus glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand, "Ten fifty-five."

"What!" Esmeralda gasped.

She pushed off the door and hurried around the room, eyeing the floor as she moved. "Where are my clothes?" she said, hastened.

"They're in the laundry room." he said, "You told me you wanted them washed because of the fight."

She shot him a perplexed look, "I don't care if they're dirty! I'm going to be late for class! I need my clothes!"

Once Phoebus fetched her clothes, she dressed and made way for the door. She was halfway down the stairs when his voice rang out.

"How do you plan on getting there?"

She stopped at midway and glanced up at the man peering over the banister. Phoebus. His hands relaxed along the wood as he peered down at her. If she didn't feel unwell, she would have complimented him on his appearance. But her anxiety was too high and she was already late enough.

"I'll call a cab," she told him and made a second attempt at hurrying down the stairs.

"With what? You're dead phone?" he replied.

She paused again and rummaged into her purse. Plucking her phone up, she tried to wake the screen, but it remained black. She bit back a frustrated sigh.

"Don't worry," his voice came again. "I'll take you to school."

* * *

**Okay guys, I didn't want to stop here, but I feared if I didn't get something to you, you'd think I'd abandoned the story. I have not! I've just been mollywhopped by life. A lot of things happened all at once, and I found myself far away from my laptop so I hadn't the chance to really make some good progress. So hopefully this will help, however small. I don't want you under the impression that I deserted our story. **

**And again, thank you for reading!**


	14. Fever

Phoebus had served an enlistment in the Army. He did six years in one term and was honorably discharged at the end of his contract. Not interested in succumbing to the oil field industry, he took the college route despite his father's protest. He flourished in the service, so he claimed. The first half he climbed to Corporal. Shortly after he was meritoriously advanced to Sergeant via his commanding officer after a lengthy deployment. In the little time she was able to become familiar, Esmeralda could see how he managed to swindle the ranks. He was quick-witted, charismatic, and his eyes, a calculating blue, shined a unparalleled cunning. No doubt from the trials of war. He was matured and seasoned. She wasn't given his age, but if she were to guess, he was nearing thirty, not entirely too old to be stepping out of uniform and into college grounds.

But football?

It seemed too trivial for her. It _was_ too trivial, in fact.

From boots to the ground to cleats across astroturf, she didn't understand what he saw in such a sport. Esmeralda was more of music and arts, not so much anything else. Perhaps that is why she didn't understand his plan of action.

As she sat passenger en route to Notre Dame, her stomach began to twist and flop. Her hands mirrored the same discomfort by wringing within her lap. Though she was in the presence of good company, so she assumed, a number of things sent her anxiety near the edge. Foremost, she missed several classes. Three, to be exact. Theology had only seven minutes left on the clock. Secondly, Theology. Third, Phoebus.

They had slept in the same bed. The previous night had been nothing but a hazy recollection, though he claimed it was nothing more. Could she trust his answer? Did she feel he was omitting details?

She stole a glance his way. An arm rested on the door while the other draped casually across the 12 position of the steering wheel. His fingers brush the surface of the dash. The morning sun shined through his hair and the tuft of gold beneath his lip. He looked stern as he drove, quiet and focused as the radio softly played. He was handsome, she'd give him that. But what happened during the night that brought her to this very morning? Was there something between them? He had broken up the fight, she remembered that. He had doctored her cat scratches, but then what? There was drinking. That was evident by her queasy stomach and lack of memory.

In her thoughts, she decided she would trust his answer. What reason would he have to lie about it? She wasn't an unattractive girl so there would be no sense in lying about it. And if anything, she could ask Nadia. Nadia knew everything. This conclusion placated her nerves slightly, but only to stir again when her eyes caught sight of the university spires creeping over the walls of trees.

"Where would you like me to drop you off?" Phoebus' voice came over the soft hum of music.

She pointed to a building and said, "There."

"Arts and Letters," he confirmed, turning into the narrow street lined with parked cars. He drove them into the parking lot and positioned the truck at the front of the entrance. Her nerves were on fire now, sparking jolts of anxiety and worry. She should have asked him to drop her off at the dorm, but she remembered seeing students returning to their quarters after a long weekend. The Walk of Shame some called it. She was not shameful. They had done nothing, Phoebus claimed.

Before she could turn and thank him, he got out and went around. She knew what he was doing, hated that he was doing it because it costed her even more precious seconds and left them exposed to wandering eyes. But she stayed put anyway as he made purchase on the door handle and opened it. He widened it and offered a hand. But Esmeralda didn't want to take it. Out of feigned ignorance and sheer defiance, both of her hands clutched her purse and she avoided seeing the gesture altogether as she stepped out.

"Thanks again." she muttered. She wanted to keep it short but her efforts were cut. Phoebus side stepped, placing himself directly in her path to the door. He lifted his arms and pulled her into an embrace.

He smelled good and felt firm and warm. If things hadn't started off questionable, Esmeralda would have returned the hug, but that was not the case. In any other instance, she would have loved this attention. Phoebus was young and vital, muscular and charming. He radiated masculinity and discipline, but he was not Claude. Comparing the two would be silly.

And then he kissed her temple and the scruff of his goatee brushed her skin and made her shudder. Her reflex kicked in and she jerked her head away. He released her and offered a puzzled look.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, trying to find the compassion she was so good at, but she needed to get inside. "I'm late for class and school is really important." Her own attempt to assuage her agitation waned slightly, but not enough to convince Phoebus. Her eyes kept darting up towards the windows above them. Claude could see them if he decided to look out the window.

"Gotcha. Well, you're welcome." he muttered with a certain blasè.

He stepped around her, barely brushing shoulders as he returned to his truck.

And for a moment, Esmeralda felt guilty.

* * *

_Youths_, Claude thought with palpable disdain. He had seen enough.

His arms were tight over his chest as he moved from the window and back towards his desk. Papers were scattered from earlier lectures. He couldn't remember what he had the students write about. He couldn't remember why he decided to get up and move towards the window. But again, he had seen enough. Drawn to her from the moment they met, he wandered towards the window in time to see her step out from a cerulean blue truck. A man was waiting for her on the other side, a young man. Claude's poor heart knew what he was seeing, but his proud mind refused to believe it. They had embraced. A one-sided kiss was exchanged. What was that? Repulsion? Her head moved in such a manner, Claude almost saw the reluctance across her face. It must have been a trick of the eye, he thought. Even from the second floor, he could see the stout man was hale and hearty and many years junior.

A light on the far side of the auditorium flickered and waned, catching his attention. This irritated him. Everything around him suddenly seemed like more agitations piling on top of one another. The room was stifling. The sun was too bright shining in. It was too quiet. He was too lonely, too old, too devastated at the sudden transgression. He was too heartbroken. But he would never openly admit this. No, he intended to treat this like any minor set back.

Scowling ruefully at his own stupidity, he approached his desk chair. He paused before it and began to ponder. He didn't want to sit. Sitting would center his efforts on thinking. He didn't want to think, even as his chastising conscience began to shout, he pushed it aside. He didn't want to think. He wanted to pace. Pacing channeled this energy into motion. Maybe he could walk himself into a calm or, at the very best, help clear his mind.

But was that even possible? He couldn't be calm now! He knew this would happen! But despite the unlikelihood of their affairs, he was weak. She made him weak, that arrogant minx. She had beckoned him, and like a moth to a flame, he came to her. He was willing. He was drunk from her antics, the purr of her voice, the heat from between her legs that swallowed him whole, and set fire to a his soul that would burn him for eternity. This was what she wanted, wasn't it? For two men to battle over her limitless affections. It was difficult to breathe now, impossible to think clearly while his body reacted to the undertows of emotion. He wanted to stand, sit, run, weep. Anything but dwell within these walls where he first laid eyes on her. He'd do anything to go back to that day and start anew. What would he do differently? Would he brush off her advances? Would he ignore her altogether? Would he report her to the university for her attempted fraternization? Would he have given her a ride home?

He felt his hands were clenched into tight fists that pushed the blood from his knuckles and stabbed his nails into his flesh.

_Hate._

_Jealousy._

_Envy._

_Spite_.

He wanted to get even, yes. That's what he needed. That would make the pain bearable. Did he actually think this would have worked? Was there ever a moment when he second guessed her motives? Time and time again, he stared into his reflection, trying to gather what it was that brought such a witch to his doorstep. Was it his faith? A faith he seemingly forgot the moment she crawled into his lap? Was it his looks? A callous old man who scowled sun up from sun down? Did she believe he was lonely? That such a succulent being could seduce a holy man such as he with a gift God made so irresistible?

Hurried footsteps came from down the hall. His heart ached and trembled. Claude was alone, amidst an empty auditorium. His face was flushed, snow-white hair disheveled about his brow. His feet anchored as the door opened. Their eyes met and the anger that flooded his veins receded like a morning tide.

"Claude," she breathed at the door way. Her face was contorted with worry. Did she know she had been found? That he had seen the entire thing? And not just the other man, more lively and strong than he? Did she know he was aware of just exactly the person she was? This game was over before it had begun.

But before the pain could fade and become replaced with longing and desire, he dug deep and found it again. He'd claw his way to the belly of hate if it meant he would not be hurt again. His lips pursed as he casually rose a hand and ran it through his silver hair.

He cleared his throat and spoke. "You missed class." The rumble of his voice, known for its base and sultry note, was now foreign to his own ears. "You need to write a three thousand word essay on the religious establishment held within your own household." He closed his eyes briefly. He needed a moment. He couldn't think straight looking into her eyes. "If your family does not practice, please explain what it was like being raised in a secular home." He opened his eyes as he lifted his head and began moving towards his jacket and briefcase. This was the end of the discussion. He hoped she wasn't going to rebuke the matter, that she would leave it merely as such. The pain was surmounting now. It was drowning him, squeezing a cold vise around his heart and weighing down on his chest.

He could do this. He was her professor. Though from this alone, he would accumulate enough lessons for a lifetime of heartaches. But the words that came from his mouth and seeped into her thoughts could have just as well been a slap, judging by her wounded reaction when he stole a glance.

"Claude," she began, stepping into the large room and shutting the door behind her. "Let me explain."

Ahh, those words. They were as old as time.

Refusing to acknowledge her claim, Claude donned his jacket and gathered the papers about his desk. He placed them neatly into the case and secured the latches. The sound of the metal locking into place rang out like a final note. Aside from the percussion of his own heart flooding his head, the room was quiet.

"Claude-,"

"Esmeralda." he cut her off, meeting her green eyes with a steady gaze. "It's come to my attention that we both have explaining to do." He brought the briefcase from its side and erected it.

"What do you mean?" Her face was flushed and there was a glisten at the corner of her eyes. Another ploy to placate the matter, surely. He would not recede.

Claude cleared his throat and for once, he couldn't look her in the eyes. He dropped them to the floor. Being so close, he yearned to feel her body heat, to breathe the fragrance that permeated around her like a blossoming flower. But she kept her distance, suddenly apprehensive, as if the words were already spoken.

"I am a married man," he began. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the entire truth. He was amidst a divorce, but she didn't need to know that. He was aiming for an infliction. He wanted to shatter her hope just as she did to him. He wanted to share this misery with another.

He braced for a number of things. He imagined her crying, falling to her knees in a throe of emotion. He also pictured her storming out and slamming the door. But when he looked up, she had done neither. She kept her silence and the steady weight of her gaze, slowly transitioning into a seething scowl, frightened as well as excited him.

But now the silence was unbearable. It was on his shoulders, his chest, the top of his crown. It was pushing him into the floor, turning his muscle and bone into lead. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. Why wouldn't she just leave him!

"I suppose I should have told you," he managed, keeping the inflection of his voice cold and steady. "But a man like myself saw an opportunity." And then he smirked and for a moment, he felt victorious and his heart tasted relief.

She moved and a crack splintered the silence of the room. His face began to sting.

His cheek took the entire brunt of the strike. He could feel the imprint of her hand tightening the inflamed skin about his cheek. He hadn't seen her move, hadn't felt her near or smelled her essence. He opened his eyes as soon as the door slammed.

She was gone and he was finally alone.

Claude leaned against his desk, expecting solace from this desertion.

But then the tears came and a sobbing softly drifted into the room.

* * *

**Thereeeeeeeee we go. I'm back. So it's been raining A LOT and that always helps me write, despite that it's...literally flooding in Texas right now. **

**As ALWAYS, you kind, kind, KIND people with your sweet words and unparalleled patience, thank you for reading and following and assuring me and just being ALL AROUND AMAZING. I wish I could gather you all up like a bundle of kittens and force my love onto you as you claw and mew to get away. ENJOY!**


	15. An Eye for an Eye

Esmeralda was trembling and she was alone. Never before had that feeling been so profound, so _accurate _until now. She entered her dorm room, slammed the door closed and regarded the empty quarter. Nadia's bed was unmade. The bathroom light was left on. She leaned against the door and respired.

Somewhere within her there was a tumultuous gamut of emotions. Her heart and her head were not in sync as of now so if it was difficult to decide her following actions. Should she cry? Would it be better to mull over where she went wrong? While she was stunned to discover she had walked herself into an affair, her heart kept a rapid percussion of angst and woe. It hammered painfully against her ribcage as her mind calmly sought the answers instead of inducing the catharsis she desperately needed. She wanted to scream until her voice broke, cry until the tears were spent, but mainly, she wanted to get even.

But then the trembling took hold of her shoulders. It moved into her chest and sank into the pit of her stomach where it coiled up like a snake made of hot iron.

Suddenly, it was there, choking her, seizing the function of her lungs and thoughts. The bridge that separated her head from her heart emerged. It bit down, clenching her jaw as the tears began to sting her eyes. They fell, mottling her shirt, falling onto the carpet, staining her tanned cheeks. She thanked whatever higher power that was for allowing her to be alone the moment it happened. She didn't wish to cry before Claude. Seeing that smirk as it crept up his lips was the twist to the knife he plunged into her heart. Had she known beforehand her besottedness for the man, she would have avoided the trial altogether.

She didn't love him. She couldn't love him. There wasn't a stitch about the man worthy of her love. He was deceitful, manipulative…, married! And she had fallen so hard. Such a crash could only end in a million tiny pieces.

Her heart wrenched and she quickly sank to the floor. She pulled her knees up and draped her arms atop of them. Blinded by the teary blur, she wiped her eyes, only for them to fill again. A noise slipped into the room. A strangled cry. A woeful mewl.

Quickly she pushed her hands against her face, but the tears continued to slip passed her fingers. She moved away from the door and hurried to her bed. Snatching a pillow up, she buried her head into it and allowed the waves her emotions to crash freely.

The sobbing was muffled now as it rose gradually in volume. She had neighbors. This building had thin walls. She didn't want to share her angst with anyone else. As she wept, she pondered.

She could have stayed and explained whether Claude wanted to listen or not. She could have yelled with great detail, making it impossible to ignore her. She could have reached out and touched him, pulled him into her and convinced him everything would be okay. A kiss. A touch. A form of connection that bridged the gaping crevice that was growing between them at a startling rate.

But the bridge had been burned-.

_No_, her mind snarled. _It's not over_. She would have to see him again, and again, and again. She was still his student, and he, her teacher. There was tomorrow and the following day and the next day.

She plopped onto her bed in a defeated flop. She sank down, slumping forward to rest her elbows against her knees. She blinked, freeing more tears at the corner of her eyes.

Outside, Esmeralda listened for birds, for mindless prattle of ambling students, for the hiss of passing cars but even these granted her no sense of distraction. The world had come to a stop, leaving her to the heavy grating thrums of an aching heart in an empty room.

It was both a blessing and a curse that she was not adept to heartache. She was stringent when it came to romance and its intimate antics. She picked and chose, or avoided it altogether. But now she had made a mistake and, of course, hindsight was always 20/20. She would have to see him again. It was something she couldn't avoid.

Her heart wrenched again by the mere thought of him. This wasn't going to be easy. It'd been too long since she had shown evident interest in anything aside from partying and school. And even then, partying had quickly lost its charm.

Across the room, Esmeralda eyed the calendar pinned to the drywall.

Voices drifted down the hall from the other side of her door. A man and woman. Their laughter carried down the corridor, reaching Esmeralda. Something was funny for they couldn't stop laughing. Even as they neared, they became louder until they bumped into Esmeralda's door.

Startled, she stood, quickly wiping away her tears. The latch released and in stepped Nadia with Remy in tow.

At once, the sound of their happiness flooded the small living space, leaving Esmeralda cornered and suffocating. She wanted to be alone. No, not alone. She wanted Claude. That would remedy her ailment, but this would never happen. But before they discovered her, Esmeralda ducked into the bathroom and quickly threw the shower on.

The rushing sound helped drown out the noise coming from Nadia and Remy. She stripped down and turned towards the mirror.

She was pale today. Most likely because of her previous night of drinking. It was an unflattering pallor. A tear escaped down her cheek and she swiped it away quickly.

At the steam began to fill the small bathroom, a thought carefully traversed Esmeralda's mind.

_What was Phoebus up to?_

* * *

GAHLEEEEEE! Where the HELL have I been...

Alright, STILL HAVENT ABANDONED the story. I may or may not have taken a hiatus spontaneously. please dont hate me.


	16. Black Balloon

How many days had it been? A couple? Few? Maybe even several? For all Esmeralda could tell it could have been the very hour down to the second of their spat. Her stomach was in knots, twisting and writhing within her with frayed nerves set aflame. She couldn't sit still. She couldn't breathe.

But Claude was fine or at least, appeared so.

He moved about the lecture room with the same proverbial elegance and stoic aura she had grown to admire. His suit was prestige and ne'er a wrinkle upon it. His blazer, a soft grey, hung on the corner of his chair where he sat, eyes down, grading the oncoming exodus' of papers. His dark brows were pensive, furrowed over the parchment as his eyes moved slowly across its plains.

Around Esmeralda the scratches of pens filled the room with the occasional hiss of flipping paper. Before her resided a blank sheet. A three hour class she had been provided with Theology and in the two hours she had been sitting there, her mind was blank.

No, not blank.

Chaotic.

She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. The air was stuffy. The room, crowded. And all she could feel was his presence. She could feel her body responding, searching for his scent, the proverbial warmth that emanated from him. But she was drawing blank. He was too far and that is where he belonged. She needed the separation like her lungs needed the air, but like a forbidden fruit, she couldn't stray.

Her hands had fallen clammy and cold now. A vise grip held her pen in place. The ball point was pressed into the paper, ready to spread the ink around, but her mind was elsewhere, filling the nook and crannies of her mind with words and worries.

He hadn't looked at her, nor made any indication she was there at all. She wished it were that easy for her. Under the tumultuous array of emotions that ran rampant within her, Esmeralda maintained silence as her head filled with the chorus of her heartache and dismay. Once again, her mind wondered to their fight. How many times had she replayed that moment? Hundreds? Thousands? It wreaked havoc in her dreams and left her heart a hammering palpation she wanted to carve out and throw onto the floor.

He hadn't given her a chance to explain. He saw another man and reacted, only to turn around and reveal that there had been another woman the entire time. That Esmeralda was not his only vice.

Too many times, she went back and each time, she wished she had responded differently. Louder. Softer. Maybe not attempt to show up to class at all.

_Focus!_ Her mind chided.

But she could not and the familiar regret and woe that she had been so desperate to swallow began to rise from the depths of her control. Her free hand, which had been flat against the desk as the other pretended to write, slowing began to clench, taking the blank paper with it. Her fingers curled and the paper followed.

The room, still a mixture of students at work, accepted the sound of Esmeralda's crumpling assignment, but still lost in the current of others. She fisted it, watching as the corners slipped away and inward until it was nothing but a paper ball. She released it. She had only brought a spiral notebook and her purse. She tossed the pen and adjusted the strap onto her shoulder as she began organizing her things.

She didn't care anymore. She didn't want to care. Esmeralda was drowning in a disgusting display of self-pity and shame. It wasn't her fault. She didn't know she had an affair. At any moment he could have told her, prevented this all from happening.

She stood, taking the paper ball quietly into her hand, and with soft footsteps, she approached the professor's desk.

He didn't glance up.

_Of course, he wouldn't. _Her mind seethed. _He's a coward. A wolf in sheep's clothing._

Her hand rose and she dropped the paper ball onto his desk. It bounced slightly and rolled a ways. The hand he had spent writing froze as Esmeralda turned away and left.

Esmeralda continued these rebellious antics. The first time was nothing but impulse, but the satisfaction she gathered as she waltzed down the corridors had her on a high she didn't want to come down from. She knew Claude fairly well. She knew education was an important element in his eyes and to watch someone nonchalantly toss it aside, especially his time and effort, was a twist to the already buried blade.

Not it was time to make that blade hers.

But he was not alone. Esmeralda had her own knife stuck in her side and everyday she attended his class, she made it a point to execute some form of disrespect, however, trivial. It thrilled her to see him squirm in his seat when she turned in a paper or lack thereof. When she arrived to class, she could feel his eyes upon her, burning into her back and the top of her head, but she only offered a smug grin, never a returning a look.

After a week of her passive aggressive misdemeanors, Claude finally had enough.

It was a Friday. The only assignment required of the lecture was to select a book from the class collection. Instead of picking something from the shelves like instructed, Esmeralda brought a magazine, something she found in Nadia's pile of fashion and makeup.

Around the classroom, Claude called out the names of the students as they reported their selection, until it was her turn.

"Audrey Remington?" His voice rang out.

A female near the back rattled off her title as he jotted it down onto paper.

"Sterling?" A man across the room reported his findings.

"Esmeralda?" he said, upon clearing his throat.

"Uh, yes," she began. "I picked the August edition of Cosmopolitan and I'll be discussing the topic "_9 Things That Give Him a Confused Boner."_

Several chuckles softly erupted around her as she carelessly flipped through the colorful pages. Slips of perfume slipped out. A woman lathered in oil, glinting the hot desert sun. Her mouth parted, breathlessly. She continued to flip.

When Esmeralda glanced up, Claude was standing straight and rigid. One hand clutched the edge of his desk, holding him in place. His face, a burning red.

"I beg your pardon?" He managed, barely audible.

"I said-," Esmeralda began.

"I heard you." He cut her off. "Bring that disgusting trash to me this instant."

For a moment, she considered instigating him further, disobeying even. But her hand flipped the pages over, slapping the magazine shut and her legs lifted her from her desk. Outside, there was a certain blase to her countenance, but within, there was turmoil and panic. She was drowning in it. It felt like the first day he admitted to their affair all over again, but this time, there was an audience. She could still feel the sting dancing along her fingertips from when she struck his face. Some days she regretted it. Others, she wished she had made a fist instead.

They held each other's eyes as she strode forward, moving languidly and without purpose or rush. When she handed it over, he carefully extracted it.

"See me after class." he muttered with gritted teeth.

She pretended to ignore him as she returned to her seat. She pretended to ignore every pair of eyes that burned into her skin. She pretended to ignore the heat that scorched her cheeks and the clenching between her legs.

As soon as the room emptied out, Esmeralda could feel the weight of her behavior settle upon her shoulders. She remained in her seat as the last student ambled out of the lecture hall. She dared not look up.

The sound of the latch clicking in place rang out and the silence become insufferable. She was suddenly suffocating.

She slid her gaze over, settling upon him and they made eye contact.

Still stern, unreadable. Nothing new.

"This has become a game, hasn't it?" His voice rumbled. He lifted his arms and laced his fingers together, resting them upon his desk. "All the time and money spent on this class alone, you've suddenly lost interest in maintaining your GPA, which was flawless until just recently."

Esmeralda uncrossed and crossed her legs, then her arms. She sat back and respired with mild interest. "I can take it again. There's plenty of Theology professors here to take the course thirty times over and never have the same instructor."

He snorted softly as a frown twisted his thin lips. "It's your time and money, Esmeralda. Do with it what you will."

"I am," she snapped, uncrossing her arms, "And I will."

For a moment, they held each other's gaze unbudgingly.

"Is that all you wanted to tell me?" Esmeralda casually broke the silence. "You couldn't have sent that in a mass email? Perhaps stating a few students within your course to get with their counselors and discuss tutoring means?"

Claude remained silent.

Esmeralda leaned over and snatched her purse up from the floor. "That's what I thought."

She marched across the room, heading for the door, but as she reached for the knob, a pale hand came out, slamming it shut before she could leave.

She froze as the hand moved towards the lock, sliding it into place.

"Stay." He whispered into her hair, suddenly close. The baritone of his voice seethed through her tresses and into her ear, slipping under her skin and burying deep in her bone until she didn't think she could stand. Another hand reached for hers, luring her away from the door. She followed, dropping her purse to the floor.

He lead her back towards his desk where he seized her by the hips and settled her upon the edge of it. He parted her knees, stepping into the valley of her legs.

"Stop," she breathed, leaning away.

Claude buried his face into her hair and neck, inhaling deeply. She felt the wet stroke of his tongue scorch her skin then a bite that nearly took the life from her lungs.

Her hands shot up, cupping the sides of his face and forcing his mouth onto hers. They tasted each other, filling the empty room with steady streams of panting and heavy petting as Claude moved his hands about her body.

Her legs hooked at her ankles from behind him, pulling him closer.

Esmeralda had worn a dress that day so she could feel the fabric of his slacks against her inner thighs. She could also feel his need, pressing into her core with a thickening length.

The room was empty. The door was locked. They were on the second floor, too far from the window to be detected. Fraternization was against school policy at Notre Dame, but then again, it always had been, even for their first time.

She broke away from the kiss, leaning back onto her elbows, inviting him further.

Claude's hair was now disheveled, red lips slack from their fervent kissing. He snaked his hands up her legs, following the bend of her knees, slipping under her dress until his fingers found the waistband of her pants.

She lifted her rump and he pulled, freeing the cotton and tossing it again. He parted her legs further, and lowered himself onto his knees.

"Claude?" She sat up. "Claude, what are you doing?"

He shushed her, nipping at the sensitive skin between her legs. His breath came out hot and tantalizing the area of her sex. Close, but still far. Her fingers curled over the edge as he licked around her core, teasing the life out of her.

"Oh my God," she cursed, lifting her hips.

With her dress bunched around her waist, she could see Claude was intentionally avoiding her most delicate area as if he had all the time in the world. Her body was on fire.

Their eyes met and she pleaded with him without words. She wanted to feel him press into her with a wet lips and a probing tongue. He grinned against her skin, turning his head to the right, dragging his breath along her entrance.

He licked.

Esmeralda's elbows slipped out from under her and she felt flat against her back.

He licked again and her core quivered as a ragged breath tore from her lungs.

He buried his tongue and the crash came sooner than Esmeralda imagined.

It lifted the hair of her body, rose her hips up in a trembling display, and rocked against his mouth.

The climb was high as she gasped until her mouth went dry and she felt him leave her sex.

She could hear him adjusting his belt buckle. She lifted her head, still high, as he unzipped his slacks. He revealed himself, thick and blushed, and then stepped closer towards her as she scooted near the edge.

She felt the tip of him brush against her, running up and down her arousal, luring her body into another round. She bit down onto her lip as he pressed into her entrance. The penetration was effortless. Her body had been ready since she'd shown up to class.

He pushed her legs apart and slowly drove in, filling her until she couldn't breathe. He pulled away and pushed in, going deeper and holding himself there against her pelvic. Her hips lifted on their own, rocking against him and taking him even further. He moaned, closing his heads and dropping his head back as she worked against him.

And then there was a knock on the door.


	17. Chapter 17

The knock could have been a gunshot for how both Esmeralda and Claude reacted.

They froze in unison. Her dress, still hitched around her waist. Her panties somewhere discarded along the floor and Claude, between her legs, buried deeply.

The knock came again. This time louder.

Together, they snapped out of their shock and scrambled for their clothes. Claude pressed a firm finger against his lips and gestured her to remain quiet. She gawked at him for a second for frantically scouting for her underwear.

"Just a moment," he called towards the door as he tucked his shirt tail in and zipped up his pants. He ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing the silver locks back into place.

The room was stifling and smelled of sex. At least, it did for Esmeralda, but on another note, she couldn't find her panties. As she moved about the area of Claude's desk in search of them, a voice came from the other side of the door.

"Claude? Is everything alright?"

It was a woman and by this sound alone, the color vanished from Claude's countenance. He met her gaze and held her there with a steady plea.

And Esmeralda knew.

He cleared his throat carefully and slowly turned away, heading for the door.

At the last second, Esmeralda glanced down and caught sight of her panties. Quickly she knelt, snatching the fabric into a ball and placed her arms behind her back. Her heart hammered painfully against her ribs as Claude reached for the door.

The lock was released and the door drew open, revealing none other than Claude's wife.

* * *

**[A:N]**

**huehuehuehue**

**sorry so short, trying to get back into the swing of things.**

**huehuehuheuhe**


	18. I was born sick

For an instance, Claude prayed that he was experiencing a nightmare. That this, the convergence of his most recent horrors, wasn't actually transpiring before him. He prayed it was just another night he'd wake in a cold sweat.

But there she was, his wife of fifteen plus years and counting as the seconds went on. A dirty blond, graying at the temples before cascading down her back in deep silken curls. Blue eyes above round cheeks, dusted in freckles settled onto him. Even from here, he could see the laughter lines about her mouth and the crows feet peeking from the corner of her eyes. In her youth, she was a lovely woman, still so. But having such a fresh flower, it's hard to turn a man back to water when he has tasted such sweet wine.

In a matter of seconds, Claude remembered the first day he laid eyes on Lina, his wife. The memories of a large church, scarcely filled with people on their wedding day. The traditional setting. The candles. The smell of her perfume as he leaned in to kiss her. A pure white gown now soiled by him and his infidelity.

Even still, the quantity of those memories could not ignite the quality of fire that devoured his soul. That was Esmeralda. Looking at his wife now, meek and homely, at best. Her roots were graying. Her skin becoming sagged. It was ruthless to even compare the two, like a soiled duck to that of a swan.

Around his face, Claude felt his cheeks grow hot and burn with shame. Did he love her still? And if not, did he now love Esmeralda? Was love even in question? Or was this a blinding fury of lust and licentiousness?

"Claude, my dear." His wife smiled as she entered the room. It took very little time for those same blue eyes to shift and narrow in on the gorgeous minx across the room.

"Oh," she murmured, the smile waning slightly. "Hello."

"Ahhh, Lina." Claude interjected before Esmeralda could respond. "I didn't expect you to be back from your missionary so soon. My morning lecture just ended."

"Well, we accomplished a lot. That, and the weather was getting bad. The church decided to head out to beat the storm," Lina murmured. She turned her stare from Esmeralda unto Claude. "Well, don't I get a greeting from my husband?" She clasped her hands before her and gave a waiting stare at him. A subtle grin tugged at the corner of her lips.

"Oh, of course." Claude cleared his throat as he snapped his briefcase closed. He rose trembling hands, nervously adjusting the top button of his blouse. He shrugged on his peacoat and tossed the scarf about his shoulders before moving towards Lina. "I'm happy you made the trip back safely." He said as they embraced. He turned his head and pressed his lips to her cheek where she tilted her head expectantly.

The mortifying burn had now cascaded into an inferno across his face that surely would make any man sweat. He snuck several slow breaths in hope to calm his hammering heart.

Esmeralda had not said a single word.

* * *

Esmeralda couldn't think of a time she had ever felt so many ranges of emotions in a matter of seconds.

In fact, there were so many at once, it was difficult to name them, much less process them.

And then.., she spotted her panties just beneath the corner of the desk. A white cotton bunch peeking out from beneath the heavy oak. Only scouring eyes would spot them but it wasn't as if women's Hanes were indigenous to this classroom. Any prying eyes aside from Esmeralda would be wise to the intimate antics that had just transpired.

The faux smile Esmeralda had plastered to her face as soon as Mrs. Frollo arrived became to hurt. Her eyes found their way back to the panties, lying motionless and undetected. She inched a foot closer as the professor and his wife embraced.

She halted when they broke away and began chatting quietly.

Another inch closer.

Now she was right against the desk. Her toes could have been brushing the fabric.

Nonchalantly, she leaned her hip against the wooden desk, sliding a foot under the corner. She had no telling if she had the fabric pinned to the floor through the soles of her shoes, but she went on a whim. She pressed down and dragged them back, hoping to further conceal them under the desk.

"And who might you be?" The wife called from over Claude's shoulder. She side stepped around him, disregarding the fashion of his arms, herding her towards the door.

Esmeralda was just about the kneel down and snatch up the pair but the voice righted her forthwith, and sent her heart into another frenzy of panic. She stood upright, locking her knees as her body went rigid.

"Oh, me?" Esmeralda laughed on the edge of hysteria. "I'm just a student, stayed after for some…," _Don't say extra credit, _"-Editing on my essay." The words came fumbling out of her mouth.

"Well, I hope my husband isn't too hard on you," she smiled. "He can be quite the acquired taste."

An image of Claude's mouth against hers and their lapping tongues came to mind. Esmeralda cleared her throat. "He's not the most forgiving out of my instructors, that's without question," she said with another forced smile. She took a quick glance down to see what the status of her panties were, only to find them completely out from under the desk.


	19. Emanate

The proverbial sickness had once again found a home in the pit of Esmeralda's stomach. Without a second to spare, she bent down and snatched up the fabric, balling it into a tight fist and positioning her hands behind her back. When she glanced up, both parties were deaf to her recent discovery. Claude had positioned his back towards her while his arm rose towards his wife, slowly steering her away towards the exit.

"Well, it was such a pleasure meeting you!" Esmeralda blurted in a panic, sidestepping around them as she made haste towards the door. She paused only to quickly snatch her purse where she had earlier discarded it amidst a lusty digression. Without a parting glance, she slipped out into the corridor and hurried for an exit. It wasn't until she was outside did she finally breathe.

* * *

The temperature had dropped that evening. By sundown, Claude could see thin wisps of breath as he stood out upon his balcony while Lina remained inside, preparing dinner. For such an erratic day, he was pleased to see it end anti-climatically, though he wasn't entirely out of the woods yet. Having sex with a student was, indeed, one thing. Having sex with a student as soon as his wife arrived was something else. But even as to so boldly adhere to the issue that it was and to face is straight-on, Claude found that he quite frankly did not care if Lina found out. Of course, there were many other matters factored in. One, it was with a student during class hours and two, he was still married..., technically.

He turned his gaze from the night sky to stare into the innards of his homestead. He began to reflect as Lina moved about the kitchen.

Outside was quiet, devoid of nocturnal critters and not even a breeze to ruffle the barren tree tops. Lina, still unsuspecting, was bathed in warm kitchen's light as he looked upon her. How did he become so reckless? He'd never so much as failed to plan for most of his life. Even when it came to his wardrobe three days from now. It was foolhardiness, at best. Every which way he turned was another contrition, followed by second and a third. As if these precipitous errors, regardless of any form of premonition or prevention, were exactly what he wanted. He couldn't stop these desires any more than he could stop the sun from setting or the stars from falling.

Esmeralda was all he thought about and all he yearned for. She was a flame that burned him from the inside, scorching a path into the threads of his soul, where he adamantly hoped she would stay. The way she tasted and felt against him was nothing like his time with Lina. The tenor of Esmeralda's voice, sultry and feminine, was not foreign to his ears, either. As he continued to watch his wife at hand, he began to realize she was much more a stranger to him than Esmeralda. But how could that be possible? Claude has been married to Lina for nearly sixteen years. Lina was his first of many. He feared he hadn't known Esmeralda for even sixteen weeks, but it felt like a life time. When he gazed upon her, he wasn't looking at stranger or an acquaintance that fell intimate. When he saw her, he saw history. A book he had read before or even a song that he had written himself. It was befuddling, to say the least. Kissing her was a memory, making love was a memory.

The night had fallen even colder and chill finally began to seep passed his garb. He moved away from the twilight and entered into the back door of his kitchen. He was silent as Lina bustled about, opening and closing the oven, draping the dish towel over her shoulder as she progressed. She paused and offered an admiring glance his way before continuing.

This house was theirs. A magnificent two story tudor home with dark woods and coffered ceilings. The floors were hardwood and cold. The mantles were massive, birthing brilliant flames of light and heat. His eyes continued to roam, collecting the memories with every surface they scoured. Fond ones, joyful ones. From the plush rug positioned before the fire, a relic Lina had acquired during their visit to France, where their adopted son conducted his studies, to the books lining the shelves Claude had amassed during his youth.

His life was not in ruins. He was successful, wealthy by blood, and married to a good hearted woman, who shared many similarities as he. So what was the reason for the blind recklessness? Why did he want _more_? Was this not enough?

"Would you like a glass of wine?" Lina's voice gently pulled him from his thoughts.

He blinked, clearing his throat. "Yes, please."

A cork popped somewhere in the kitchen while he watched the fire dance from across the room. He reached out blindly, locked by the blazing flames, and touched the edge of the dining room table not far from his right. He sat himself down, attentive to the snapping and cracking of wood as the fire devoured it. Lina came around and placed a glass of red wine before him. She then leaned down and kissed him.

Like second nature, his body went through the motions, almost mechanically. She didn't seem to notice as she broke away and returned to the kitchen.

Claude averted his gaze to the glass of wine and listened to his heart. Not in a sentimental sense or any existential degree, but just to adhere to what his heart was doing.

He felt not a flutter, nor quickening to its percussion. No hammering of excitement or anxiety. No thrill to be touched by his wife. It remained steady and unaffected. He took a sip of wine.

"Have you spoken to your son?" Lina inquired over a pile of sliced vegetables.

"I have not." He replied before taking another greedy taste of wine.

"I spoke to him this morning before my flight. He seems to be doing well." She added.

Claude knew this for there was a time he needed advice and sought it by discussing it with his son. He polished off his first glass of wine.

"Would you like another?" Lina asked.

He would, he thought. But, out of the mouth of drunks and babes, Claude knew too many would result in a messy situation, either confessing his unfaithfulness or disappearing entirely for the night. He was already drowning in his current problems. He saw no logic in creating more.

He shook his head, "No, thank you." One glass was enough to take the edge of and that's all he needed.

Standing, he moved into the living room area to get closer to the fire. When Claude was a child, his father used cedar to burn in during their winters. For as long as he could remember, the smell of cedar always took him back, except for tonight.

He settled down onto his armchair, loosening the top buttons of his blouse as a new memory unfolded. The sound of his father's voice did not rumble in the echoes of his reflection, nor did it place his mind's eye at the foot of a Christmas tree, tearing apart paper and parcels with his younger brother.

Not even close.

His mind was so vivid in detail of a particular evening, he almost felt her again, tasted her. The way she moved against him. Again, so familiar. How she felt between his hands, anchored at her hips, the roll of them as she took him deeper. Claude felt his throat constrict. He pushed away that intimate night now lured by the fragrance of burning cedar, the same type of wood he burned their first time alone. But it was wearisome to think of anything else.

Another thing plagued his mind with inquiries and tribulations; a matter of divorce.

Less than a year ago, Lina had questioned her vows, but being the honorable woman that she was, she brought this to Claude's attention in hope to placate the matter between husband and wife. Unfortunately, Claude was not the easiest to confide to, especially when he was the victim of the circumstance. It devastated him beyond words and of course, he went through the many stages of grief. Denial struck him like a storm, seizing all thought and rationality. He couldn't believe it, didn't want to believe it. They had spent so many years together, adopting a child when natural conception was out of the question. Then came the callous beast that was anger. How could she, after everything he had provided her? Was he not enough? Should he have gotten a bigger house? Adopted more children?

Then he turned to God with his rosary wrapped tightly about his hand and bible pressed to his breast. Nights he had spent weeping on bloody knees in hope of answers, a solution, anything. When his prayers fell unheard, Claude turned inward. It _was_ him. Something was wrong with _him_. He could be a successful professor with adequate resources, living among the wealthiest of the state, but it wasn't enough for her. _He_ wasn't enough for Lina, the same woman who moved about the kitchen, requesting kisses in public, and utilizing endearments such as _husband._

And then another came into his life as vivid and coruscating as she was.

Esmeralda.

She lured him out of his depression long before he knew the feelings were mutual. Admiring her from afar was plenty for Claude. Like a flower too beautiful to pluck, he watched her come and go from class. Undoubtedly, there were other beautiful women in the class room, but nothing was as captivating as she. But now they'd surpassed a threshold that can't be undone or ignored. Perhaps, it was love, at least for Claude.

* * *

After dinner, Claude and Lina retired to their bedroom where Lina began to behave rather spritely for such a late hour. He feared she was hinting on something he'd rather not perform.

When she came out of the bathroom as Claude undressed into his night wear, he found she'd donned a revealing and lacey number in a creme color. Her feet were bare and a soft pink blush warmed her cheeks as she stared across at him. She planted her hands onto the swell of her hips and smiled coyly.

There was a time he reveled at this sight, now it only sickened him with sadness. This was going to be a chore.

Without reciprocating a hint or smile, Claude moved towards the bed and drew back the covers. He slipped under the sheets and switched off his bedside lamp.

The bathroom light went out and she came to her side of the bed as he faced away.

It was a clear night with a full moon's light spilling in from the windows. He tried to focus on the pale glow and not the woman behind him, only inches away. For a moment, he was sure she wasn't going to try and initiate intimacy, but then he felt a hand brush the small of his back.

He closed his eyes and held his breath. "Do not do this, Lina." He stated, calmly.

"Why ever not?" She inquired, playfully. "You are my husband."

Claude remained silent, refusing to relax under her contact. A moment paused and neither spoke, until finally...,"Claude," she whispered. "I've been thinking."

"So have I." He muttered, adjusting under the covers until her hand fell from his side.

"What I said before I left," she continued. "It was hard. It was hard admitting that my love for you had abated." Lina paused in hope Claude had a rebuttal in place, but only met silence. "My stay abroad gave me time to reflect on my decision. Claude, I still love you. I still want to be with you. You are my husband." She moved closer until her chest pressed into his back. An arm snaked around his torso and pulled him closer. "I needed some alone time. That's all. I'm home all day when I'm not with the church. Sometimes I feel like my efforts to make you happy are in vain. For a while, I was certain it was _you_ falling out of love with me. I became scared and frantic."

She was blathering now, but at least she sounded somewhat sincere. However, Claude had already resigned his feelings on the matter. His mind was made up and he wished she would stop touching him. A once welcoming advance now became uncomfortable for him and the longer she remained against him, the more it felt as if his skin began to crawl.

Claude sat up from the bed and threw the covers back. "I will not discuss this with you now, or ever. Your decision was made long ago and if you have difficulties siding with it, I will gladly settle it for you." He stood then, donning his house slippers and picking up his pillow. "I'll sleep in the parlor." He was allowed to leave without protest or being accompanied. This both relieved and troubled him. She was not one to give up easily and has been known to follow him around the house to continue an argument.

Once he arrived at the parlor, he started a fire and waited for sleep to come. As he laid there, staring unwavering into the vaulted ceilings, he began to drift in and out. He wanted Esmeralda, that was given. Any man, neither blind or dumb, could make that decision without effort. Now, out of the presence of Lina, he found himself comfortable enough to relax. He slowly drifted into a dream among thousands that had rallied around him, bawling and shrieking a discord of chaos and havoc. A scarcely clad woman was tied before him and around her was a pyre set ablaze.

* * *

**[A/N]: Fall semester is coming to close. I'm knocking out exams as they come and finding a lot of time and inspiration on my hands. Thanks for reading and most importantly, thank you for the patience and kind reviews. I see them and I am listening!**


	20. Recommendations

_A few feet away stood a figure no matter how hard he tried to look, he could not turn his head. However, he could feel their presence. The roaring around Claude made it difficult to focus. It overwhelmed him, pulling his eyes left and right with screams and howls. The mass of people were up in arms, but for whatever reason, the answer was not found._

_A voice began to speak, spreading out across the crowd of people as a scroll appeared before him, held up by his very hands. _

_The voice declared, graven and cold, "The prisoner, Esmeralda, has been found guilty of the crime of witchcraft. The sentence: Death." The message rang out heavy like lead and hung on the crowns and shoulders before him, weighting the patrons down with a forebode of dread and alarm. Then an__ anger came over Claude and stirred like a growing fire as the words rang out. And as it became so profound, so did the clarity of his awareness. The voice was his and the anger was directed towards the figure he couldn't see. He hated them with such a wrath, murder could not suffice. He wanted them burned at the stake, scorched and alive._

_He raveled the scroll and tucked it beneath his arm as he regarded the massive crowd. He saw there was a melange of expressions across the many countenances. Some were reviled. Others might have been cheering, he wasn't sure. This wasn't their matter, but his. He wanted blood spilled and a soul condemned. Witchcraft was an abomination and had no part in his court._

_His court?_

_Yes, mine. He thoughts proudly conveyed._

_With a smug grin, he turned away from the drove of patrons to adhere to his current acquisition._

_It was then that his eyes met that of a seething Esmeralda, the one rendered to the stake. Her chemise, tattered and soiled with blood and dirt, barely concealed her body. She had scrapes about her knees and chin, a cut above her brow, and her hair was in disarray. He knew in his heart that his hands did not inflict these wounds, but in the back of his mind, he was the one responsible._

_The anger in his heart vanished and in its stead was inhibiting panic, questions began to flood his mind. He moved forward but the executioner, torch in hand, shoved him back. He stumbled away, mouth agape as the pyre about her feet was set. The flames scorched the edges instantaneous, leaping over the gnarled patterns and devouring quickly. He screamed until his voice cracked and lungs burned. He screamed until his mouth filled with smoke and the sickening taste of burning flesh accompanied his agony. _

_He screamed until her screams were his._

* * *

Esmeralda drew the covers over her head as soon as the door to her dormitory came open. She laid there in the shadows of her blanket as Nadia bustled in. She hoped Nadia would come and go like she usually did, but after several minutes of her roommate thrashing around and slamming about, Esmeralda had had enough.

She threw the covers back and shot the back of Nadia's head a scowl.

"Do you mind?" She snapped.

Nadia lifted her head, took a slow breath and turned. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, much similar to Esmeralda; that being the reason she was hiding under her covers.

"I'm sorry. I'm having a pretty rough day." Nadia sniffed. It didn't take her long to notice the condition of her roommate. "Wait, have you been crying, too?"

Esmeralda felt a burning wave of fresh tears. When she nodded, they freed from the corner of her eyes and fell down her cheeks.

"Oh, no!" Nadia cooed, rushing to Esmeralda's bedside. "What happened? Did you fail an exam?"

"No," Esmeralda pouted. "I-I-...," she didn't want to say it. "I fucked up, Nadia. This time, I _really_ fucked up." The tears fell liberally now, despite her hands attempt to wipe them away. They came faster than she could conceal.

In complete disregard of her own problems, Nadia pulled Esmeralda into a tight embrace. Her hands worked at smoothing Esmeralda's hair and rubbed her back as Esmeralda's shoulders shook with sobs.

"Talk to me," Nadia said, gently. "Everything's going to be okay. Just talk to me."

Esmeralda drew back as the sobbing slowed. Also, because she acquired a runny nose. "Remember that _thing_," she spat, "That I had with my professor?"

"Ew, yes." Nadia replied.

Esmeralda managed a chuckle. "Right?"

"Yeah, what about him? Did you seriously keep at it?"

Esmeralda furrowed her brow as the frown deepened. "I did."

"Okay, and then what?"

"Turns out he's _married._"

She cringed when Nadia struck her with an incredulous look.

"Well, what did you expect!" Nadia chuckled, gently. "For his age, he should be married. If he isn't, there's probably something wrong with him." Nadia reached up and wiped a renegade tear with her thumb. "Is that all?"

Esmeralda shook her head, "No." She quietly croaked.

Nadia lifted her brows and waited.

"We had sex on his desk and his wife showed up." Esmeralda finished. She braced for an exclamatory reaction.

"What!" Nadia shrieked, her hands nearly covering her mouth in shock. "She caught you in the act! On his desk! AT SCHOOL? Esmeralda, what the hell were you thinking!"

"No, not in the act." Esmeralda explained. "She knocked and we managed to put our clothes back on before she came in. The door was locked." Now that she thought about it, she was relieved he had locked it.

"And then what? What happened after that? Did she come in? Was she wondering what the hell you two were doing?"

Esmeralda shrugged. "Perhaps. I got my stuff and left."

Nadia flopped back onto Esmeralda's bed and groaned. She pressed her hands over her face, drawing them down in exasperation. "This isn't like you," she mumbled behind her fingertips as she stared into the ceiling.

"I know," Esmeralda whispered in defeat. "That's not the first time we've had sex."

Nadia lifted her head in a snap. "You better be fucking kidding me, Esmeralda. Tell me you're joking."

"No," she spat back. "I'm not! Enough of this. I'm done talking about it. What's your story?"

Nadia sighed, heavily. "I caught Remy cheating, so we broke up."

"Well, that's interesting." Esmeralda returned the deadpan. "If I hadn't known any better, I'd say you were pretty upset about it a few minutes ago."

Nadia shrugged. "I guess. Nothing like hearing someone else's fucked up story to straighten out perspective."

Esmeralda nudged her beneath the blankets and gritted a reply, "Hey, glad to help."

Soon after, the reassurance came between the two roommates. Since Esmeralda wasn't technically caught mid coitus, she should still be in the clear. For Nadia, Esmeralda suggested to pick a gender and stick to it.

"That should narrow down the chances of disappointment." Esmeralda added.

Nadia glowered from across the room.

"Just a recommendation," replied Esmeralda with her hands up in surrender.

A knock came to the door, redirecting both of their attentions.

Nadia was the first to move and for whatever reason, Esmeralda heart kicked started with longing. Was it Claude on the other side? Did he find her dormitory somehow? Was that accessible for teachers?

But as Nadia drew the door open, a different smile awaited the other side.

"Oh, hello, Phoebus."


	21. Impasse

It was apparent Esmeralda had forgotten about Phoebus. For weeks, her focus was on Claude or elsewhere entirely. She'd ignored the phone calls, the text messages, and even passing mentions from Nadia that he had hoped to reach her ears. It came without shock to see he had taken matters within himself to appear at their door.

"Hello," Nadia said with a hint of surprise.

"Sorry to show up unannounced, I heard about what happened." Phoebus offered a consoling smile before glanced Esmeralda's way.

Careless of her current and rather messy appearance, she looked away as soon as their eyes met. He was speaking about Remy's recent affairs.

_Affairs_, Esmeralda spat in her thoughts. That word was certainly making its rounds.

Pushing the covers away, Esmeralda threw her legs over the edge and padded quietly into the bathroom. The business was between Nadia and Phoebus. Besides, any prying on Esmeralda's part would be that of relation to Claude. Albeit, she also wanted to give them some privacy.

As she shut the door, so did the dormitory's, but Phoebus' voice remained, too muffled by the drywall and closed door. However, if she listened closely enough…,

She turned towards the shower and threw the faucet on full blast. Cold or hot, it didn't matter. She needed a medium of sound to separate herself from the bedroom. As the tub began to fill, a knock came.

"Will you come out here for a second?" Nadia's voice rose over the roaring of water.

Esmeralda dropped her head back and closed her eyes, vexed. She withdrew from her leaning posture and brought the door half way open. "What for?"

Nadia's eyes were a brilliant brown, if ever possible, and she could clearly see the scheme dancing within them. "He wants to talk to you."

A muscle in Esmeralda's jaw ticked. "Nadia, please." She begged with her eyes.

"Just a moment, Esmeralda. That's all it'll take." Phoebus interjected from behind Nadia.

Mildly convinced but notsomuch moderately annoyed, she widened the door and stepped around Nadia, immediately crossing her arms. At this point, Esmeralda had enough when it came to a man and his antics.

"What do you want?" She nearly snarled.

"Did I do something wrong?" He began. Upon his countenance was already shadows of hurt and discourage. It was unfitted and foreign to see such a man, broad in shoulder and stature, appear so wounded.

But she was not too be fooled, yet again. She thought Claude, at his air and season, would be disinclined for such a behavior as he had recently exuded. Therefore, it went without saying that Phoebus was still amidst such prime for trouble and play, none of which Esmeralda had any interest in partaking.

"No, not that I'm aware of." Esmeralda responded, coolly. "Why do you ask?"

He chuckled, more to himself than to Esmeralda and certainly not because he was humoured.

An unsettling feeling came before Esmeralda. It crawled from her stomach and up before then snaking around her neck and setting upon her shoulders. If it's one thing, it's another; it seemed. She didn't want Phoebus here, asking questions on whether or not the interest was mutual.

It wasn't.

It had never been.

In the weeks she had been avoiding him, wallowing in Claude's shadow, she assumed he would have cut his losses and moved on. For his age and status, it should have been effortless. The campus was crawling with women willing to take Phoebus wherever he may desire.

"Phoebus," Esmeralda began, suddenly exasperated in it all. "You're a nice guy...but-"

"Oh, save the bullshit." He cut her off. "You think I wanted to come here and do this?"

The abrupt change in tone startled both the girls as they simultaneous stepped back.

"I've got plenty of things to bide my time with, instead I'm _here_, hoping to talk some sense into you. What is it about me? Am I unattractive to you? Am I too old? Is it because I'm a veteran? Do you see me as some baby killer? What the hell is it?"

Esmeralda cringed at the flurry of questions tumbling over his lips. His face had begun to flush red and the air in the room went stagnant.

"It's none of that," she replied, keeping a steadiness in her voice. "But whatever it is you're looking for, I'm quite certain I can't provide." She squared her shoulders and eyed the door before regarding him once more.

Trembling hands rose up and ran a route through his blonde hair. It looked rather soft and healthy, sliding down into place once his hands made their way back to his sides.

"I'm sorry," he began, respiring. "I thought there was something wrong with me." Another chuckle rumbled in his throat. "But I'm seeing now you're just fucking stupid."

"Excuse me?" Esmeralda spat.

"Alright, it's time for you to go!" Nadia barked as she strode across the room and began shoving him towards the door. "Out! Now! Get out!"

He obliged her herding technique and strolled casually for the door, but not before a parting glance and a sinister wink towards Esmeralda.

Nadia slammed the door and deadbolted it in place before leveling her gaze onto Esmeralda. "What the hell was _that_?"

"I'm not sure." Esmeralda murmured, placing a hand over her frantic heart. "Something's wrong with that man."

Several hours and many discussions later, the girls decided to call it a night. Esmeralda had no trouble falling asleep, not with the tiring melange of emotions she experienced in a single day.

Lying upon her stomach with her arms folded beneath her pillow, a sudden buzzing sound, soft and seemingly distant, slowly lifted her from a deep slumber.

Her eyes became slits, sifting through the darkness that encompassed the room until they slowly adjusted to the shadows. The buzzing continued.

Abruptly, she sat up and glanced about, suddenly awake.

It was her phone going off.

Disconnecting it from the charger, she brought the screen up and squinted against the harsh light.

The caller was unknown and the hour was 2 a.m.

She swiped the answer button and brought the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" She croaked in a whisper.

"Esmeralda?" A grave voice responded, seeming on edge.

"Yes?" She recognized this voice, had heard it many of times, and elicited various sounds alongside it.

There was only static on the other end, making her heart jump frantically. All recollection of disdain she had felt during their exploitations had vanished; in its stead was alarm and confusion.

"Hello?" She whispered more urgently.

"I just wanted to call and make sure you were okay." Claude finally managed. The more he spoke, the more sure she became that it was him. "I had the most vivid nightmare of you."

He was concerned, she realized. For him to wake from such a spell and find it reasonable to call for peace of mind at a late hour, amused Esmeralda. The day's worth of twisting discomfort, the butterflies in her belly, the sudden spur of jealousy, alleviated at once, if only slightly.

But he was still a married man and she had, in fact, met this woman. In a day's pass, she had felt the lowest of emotions. Humility, jealousy, self-doubt. Esmeralda was no fool in the ploys of love, but never had a ruse been so stormy, so tumultuous. Her heart had played every percussion of panic and desire, sometimes all at once. And although, she was certain that what lie between them was worth suffering for, she couldn't bare another second eliciting this affliction. It had been trial and error from the beginning. And frankly, she was tired of waiting for him to come around. For once, Esmeralda would not garner her wishes and desires. It was time to stop, to cut her losses and move on.

"Claude, we can't keep doing this." Esmeralda clarified in the darkness.

The words came out before her mind could filter them. And though she hadn't intended them to sound so venomous, they stung, even for her. Her throat constricted as a silence came between them.

A moment had passed, and then two. The silence was so deafening Esmeralda had feared he may have hung up on her. But then his voice finally spoke…

"You're right." He said and her heart decidedly sank. "I have done a lot of harm, but I do wish you well."

"Goodnight, Claude." She managed around the knot now forming in her throat. The arrangements she would need to make, to avoid seeing him altogether, began to evolve in her head. She would drop Theology first thing in the morning.

Part of her had expected him to brush aside her suggestion, to over look it as a plea for change; a bargain. Even still, as the seconds went on, fleeting from her grasp, it became clear that was not the case. She had convinced him all too easily, which told her he knew it was coming. It was up to her to pull the plug. He was just along for the ride.

She moved to hang up the phone, but at the last second, she heard something.

She brought the phone back to her ear and listened carefully.

"Please…," he whispered, unaware that she had missed what he had previously said.

"Please what?"

"Please, let me see you again."

* * *

**[A/N]: PHEW! Any Phoebus sympathizers, please take your exit now.**


	22. Stay With Me

She had agreed to see him last time, and now, Claude would tell her everything.

That is if to say it wasn't too late.

Stepping out into the frigid night, Claude slipped the folded divorce papers into the interior breast pocket of his pea coat and headed for his car. If not for show, definitely for sheer clarity; that Claude Frollo was not a some licentious elderly man trying to relive his days as a womanizing stag. Wherewithal, even when he was some spring chicken, had been never the case. The feelings rang true when his thoughts wandered to the likes of Esmeralda. She deserved to at least see from his perspective why he managed these antics with an unorthodox approach. A married man, regardless of the quality of his marriage, should remain even-keeled and keen on his vows. It sounded easier than it was to execute, decidedly.

However, one thing kept bringing him back to the present mind; the nightmare he had recently experienced had yet to leave the corners of his mind. It came to and fro, plaguing him its vivid details and sickening imagery. How his mind managed to conjure such a dreadful play frightened him. He prayed immediately upon waking. Certainly it wasn't a premonition of the sort, or some foreshadow that he must take heed to. Claude was not one to read too deeply into the meanings of dreams and their interpretations. Albeit, many believed that dreams were a bridge between the physical world and the metaphysical. All in all, he had no opinion on the matter as a whole. But as far as this individual dream, it shook him and inspired a sense of worry.

Regardless, the prayers, and the time he spent pacing his parlor, proved useless. He couldn't shake the dread and worry, so he called her and thank God, she answered.

What a relief it was for his senses to be graced by her voice, soft with the scratches of sleep.

Tonight, he would show her the papers; the date in which it had been set in motion. He would explain everything, he had to and he hoped she would accept him once again.

Decidedly, he feared losing her. With the divorce moving at the speed of cold molasses, he dreaded his patience and hers were not one in the same. At the time, he was only trying to spare Esmeralda exposure to Lina. Out of sight; out of mind. He had wished to keep her a mere idea, a ghost in the back of Esmeralda's mind. And before long, the papers would have been filed and the entire conflict resolved. Only then, did he feel they could finally, and freely, be together. But, they wouldn't be necessarily out of the woods, yet. He was still an instructor at Notre Dame and that alone had many precautions to adhere to.

His headlights swept across the parking lot, now only a few blocks from her dormitory. The streets were scarcely lit along the road. Lamps staggered the sidewalks beneath the bare and gnarled out stretches of limbs. Some flickered and waned against the cold, pressing night. Others was stark with vigor, burning away the shadows and casting an umbrella of shine across the pavement.

He had arrived, parking across in the visitors section away from the lamps. It was indeed after hours, he needed to be somewhat conservative in his visits. Who knew what professors, aside from himself, found need to attend the campus grounds at unsightly hours.

He checked the time along his wrist watch, almost half passed three, then reached across the middle console and observed his phone. The device bore no indication of contact.

Now it was time to wait...

Several minutes began to pass and then an hour…

Why hadn't she come out yet? Had she changed her mind about seeing him? If so, he was certain she would have at least confessed her change of heart. He allowed another half hour to slip by before taking action. In the east, a softening pink began to line the edges of the horizon.

Against his better judgement, Claude decided to call her.

It fell unanswered.

_Perhaps, it is too late._ His mind considered, solemnly.

A sensation came across his chest, rising to his throat where it laid heavy. It ached and caused his shoulders to sag with woe. He took a deep breath, hoping to stifle the pain, and glanced back towards the building.

He cleared his throat, turned the ignition on, and returned home.

* * *

As soon as Esmeralda stepped out of her dormitory, the cold assaulted her.

She rose her arms, wrapping them quickly around herself and hunched forward. Her breath came out as thin wisps as she made way across the stiff grass for the sidewalk bench.

Immediately, she regretted not dressing warmer and prayed Claude didn't take long to arrive. She knew she would recognize his car upon approach and seeing as not a soul resided among the sidewalks, parking lots or lawn, it wouldn't be a trial finding her. She checked her phone in her sweater's pocket to find it a little after three.

Claude lived several miles out. She recalled the visit to his hearth quite a drive, but twenty minutes no less to get from there to campus, especially at such a traffic-barren hour.

She finally reached the bench and sat herself down, pulling closer to her frame to capture heat and stave off the shivers that threatened around her shoulders.

A winter's night was always a starkly quiet one. A breeze did not shake the branches and the woods did not chorus a sound of creatures of the night. So it came to little shock that the footsteps approaching from behind could be detected.

But one thing was certain, they came fast on their arrival, to the point that Esmeralda had no time to react.

Something hard struck the side of her head as she began to turn, flooding her vision with sparks and tilting the world of its axis. She fell forward, stunned, off the bench and onto the cold winter ground. A moan, muted and weak, slipped passed her lips as her eyes blinked and rolled, trying to regain clarity and balance. She tried to get up, making trembling purchase with her hands flat onto the ground. She lifted silently as a flood of warmth escaped from her nose and cascaded over her lips.

The footfalls made round the bench until they were before her. She heard the popping of knees as they knelt down, picking her up from the dirt and tossing her over their shoulders.

She was limp like a rag doll. Her arms swayed lifelessly as she was carried off, away from the bench, the street lamps, the bare trees.

Away from Claude.

The proverbial catch of a vehicle unlocking reached her ears as she slowly regained her composure. Her body tensed, flooding her veins with adrenaline as she began to react. She thrashed and fought, curling her hands into fist as she kicked and began to scream.

The man pitched her forward, slinging her off their shoulder like a sack of grain, and her back collided with the slap of leather upholstery.

A thud resonated across her skull, and a prick of sharp pain followed, a mere reminder of the injury about the side of her head, nearest the temple.

Cringing from pain, she looked up towards her assailant in hope to achieve his identity, but his face was concealed in a ski mask.

She opened her mouth to scream, to alert anything, anyone within the area, but as soon as her jaw dropped, the man produced a gun.

He held it forth as a glint of light refracted off its carbon body. His thumb reached up, sliding the hammer back. The sound alone was enough to convince her to remain quiet. She closed her mouth as he reached down and stuffed her dangling legs into the truck. Stepping back, he slammed the door and moved to the front seat.

The drive began quietly, not even the soft rhythm of the radio could grant her minute solace.

Esmeralda, riveted by fear and injury, lasted silently in the back seat as the driver continued en route. He had locked the doors, but Esmeralda was not bound by any means.

As soon as the truck pulled off onto the highway, she threw the door open.

Out of reflex, the man swerved as he tried to reach back and catch her by the hood, but the momentum of the turning truck had already dumped her out onto the empty street.

Esmeralda crashed into the gravel with enough force the knock the wind from her lungs as she rolled towards the shoulder.

The streets were bare, sans the truck, her assailant, and herself.

Gathering from the ground, the pain resonated throughout her body now and she allowed a cry to spill from her lips as she stood.

A concrete divider lined the street, foretelling Esmeralda she was on an overpass.

Hurrying towards the edge, her hands came up to brace against the ledge as she hurdled herself blindly over the side. The fall was encompassed in darkness, but it was not empty. The drop was at least fifteen feet. Had there not been tree branches to snag her fall as she went down, a concussion could have been guaranteed.

She landed on her side, atop layers of dead leaves and bracken.

Scrambling blindly against the thicket's impenetrable darkness, she got to her feet and made haste to further herself from the stranger in pursuit.

As she pushed deeper into the grove, she could barely differentiate her ruckus and the noise her assailant was conjuring as he hunted her down.

She risked a fleeting glance behind her, losing purchase of the forest floor beneath her feet as she progressed. She then plummeted forward, connecting into a downwards roll until finally settling at the bottom of the decline. The air now smelled damp and had become even colder.

She drew within herself, hoping to appear as small as possible as she listened. The night was a foreboding stillness, only accompanied by the panicked percussion of her fear-laden heart.

A babbling sound, perpetual and proximate, coupled with the smell of damp wood and moss, indicated she had fallen into a creek bed. Its sound interfered with her efforts to pinpoint her assailant, as well.

Somewhere in the distance, a branch snapped and the rustle of leaves stirred her terrified gaze towards her right. She pressed a trembling hand over her mouth and tried to still her heart and slow her breathing, but it was impossible. Her body was in flight mode, screaming for her to jump to her feet and make a dash for it. But where?

The night bore no moon; no celestial shine to help differentiate one shadow from the next. She was pinned, physically and mentally, and running out of options.

Tighter, Esmeralda curled against herself, pleading to whatever God or gods above for a way out. A hand still firmly pressed against her lips to stifle the cries of pain and terror as her head began to fill with imagined horrors if her hunter located her.

She would be raped, tortured, among many grim occurrences. Whom had she wrong? What had she done to someone that was so prominent, so significant that they found it reasonable to abduct her? The questions were endless. The regret for not being kind, more careful, more considerate to each stranger she encountered began to arise.

And as soon as her mind began to conjure the harrowing dismality that she would soon have to face, she felt the cold barrel of a gun against her temple.

* * *

**[A/N]: OH DEAR.**


	23. Him & His

Phoebus had a cabin located in the deciduous upper-state New York. And it was in the basement of this cabin where he paced religiously. Each footfall a sticcato echoe against the cold concrete floors and its walls.

The morning had come quickly and frigid for him and his. The dawn was an unforgiving gelid accompanied by only a winter's blue. The landscape, several hundreds of acres, was barren of green and life, secluded so that he may have peace of mind with him and his.

He continued to pace, only braving a few attempts to make surety.

She was so still, so quiet.

Almost dead, it seemed.

He knelt, his knees popping as so, and with his index and middle finger, pressed gently against the girl's jugular.

Powerful. Pumping. Alive still, but asleep.

Perhaps…, he had struck her too hard.

He paced.

There was a roaring sound, not voiceless or incomprehensible, but deafening all the same. The things Phoebus had done to grant himself only seconds on solace recollected in his mind. He tried everything. Whiskey. Fighting. Exercise and even painting. Unexpectedly, the paintings helped tremendously. The strokes of colors against the purest white canvas, sullied by crimsons, blacks, and decaying greys; it brought him to a place where he had control over his thoughts and the things that accompanied them.

But as of late, his stresses, his focus, all of his determination was here; retrieving what should have been his from the beginning. He couldn't explain it with a thousand brushes. She belonged to him. The very night they met haunted him from dusk until first light. They had shared the same bed. The same breath. He couldn't forget that night if he simply carved it from his memory. The droning of noise now flooded his head. A sing voice rang out authority over the rest.

Kip.

Phoebus turned, eyeing his brother-in-arms at the foot of the stairs. His attire was a smoldering, tattered version of the Army combat uniform. The coyote-brown boots were tarnished in blood and soot.

And his face...

Kip did not have an entire face. Half of it was burned off in a helicopter crash. A perpetual snarl marred with melted flesh and tissue was his expression. When he spoke, it was in Phoebus' head while the mouth remained still. But the eyes were always watching.

_What are you going to do with her?_

Now was not the time to give an answer.

He looked away as Kip's voice was swallowed among the others. He knew what they were saying. Each and everyone of them had an opinion to make and he listened.

But in truth, Phoebus wasn't sure of the answer, not yet. It all depended on her.

The dawning light, with its ghostly shine, came through the windows, lighting the dim confinement. It kissed her feet first, then caressed her ankles. Phoebus sat down beside her.

Time meant nothing at this point. Time had been spent, waiting and watching. Time had been tiring for him as he yearned for his. Time meant nothing now. The world could fall apart, he did not mind.

The sun had now reached her shoulders, igniting the ends of coal-black hair with a shimmer he found inspiring. Her hair was splayed out like a carbon flame about her head. Some tendrils clung tightly, hardened by the dried pool of blood they laid upon.

A thought quickly struck him.

He would paint her. She would like that. But first, she needed to be cleaned. He'd never painted a live subject. All of his previous ones were victims to the unforgiving war.

Insurgence. Innocents. Targets. Cannon-fodders.

He watched the steady rise and fall of her shoulder as she laid on her side.

Slack lips. Slender chin. Thick, feathery lashes.

She was stunning.

A soft cough cracked through her throat. She began to stir.

Finally, she was waking.

At once, he edged closer. A muffled cry came from her still frame. The solace of sleep no longer staving off the pain of injury. She had fought so hard against him, fleeing across a highway, falling from an overpass. In truth, the moment had gotten the best of him, as well. The training he had endured during his service had come out during the influx of adrenaline. He hadn't meant to hit her so hard, just enough to stun her. But when her body fell lifeless, slumped against the bed of dead leaves with hardly a sound of protest, he worried he may have concussed her.

A small groan parted her lips as she rolled onto her back.

A deep bruise shadowed her right brow bone. It stretched out, encompassing her temple and fading about her hairline, captured by the light.

Decidedly, she was still so lovely.

Phoebus came closer, kneeling next to her as she continued to lull into wakefulness. He sat down, sliding his hands beneath her frame and lifting until she was gently strewn across his lap. She winced in protest. The soft moan erupting into a startling cry as the pain resonated through her.

In an instance, Phoebus watched as the cogs began to turn.

She felt her body in pain, the injuries inflicted. She would see this unfamiliar place, feel his arms around her. As his thoughts took clarity, they were in action. He felt her tense, choking on the pain and cries as the confusion blurred her mind.

When their eyes met, a new panic emerged, rendering her mute with fear.

Emerald eyes, vivid with stark fright, locked onto him. Both hands came forth, fisting the fabric of his shirt as her elbows locked. She began to squirm, tilting her hips as her legs kicked weakly.

He smiled as her lips twisted into a frown.

She began to cry and he pulled her closer, even as she began to fight.

He held her close, rocking her against his chest as she wept, weakly pushing against him with her arms.

Eventually, her cries turned into deep-bellied screams, which he allowed. She could scream for as long as she desired. The sound would not travel far. In only a few minutes, she had tired her throat and returned to a softened moans.

Tears had cleans paths through the blood that had painted the side of her face. Her arms had fallen slack against her waist as she was sat within his lap. Her legs dangling across his thigh as he cradled her.

He leaned forward and kissed her swollen temple. She jerked away, luring an exciting scream from her bloodied lips, before soothing down to her original whimpers.

He kissed her cheek and along her jawline until his lips brushed the corner of her mouth. She turned her head away and this pained him.

He reached up and gently took her by the chin until she looked upon him a second time.

He pressed his lips to hers, tasting the metallic tang of her blood and the salt of her tears.

* * *

**[A/N]: Alright, readers. I do pose a question. It's a serious one, and keep in mind, I am the writer. The story will go as I plan, but I will take into some consideration on your end of the spectrum. These following chapters will be rather...difficult to read. There are two ways we can go about this...**

**1\. I imply what is happening. I will sensor the story and allow you guys to figure it out on your own.**

**or...**

**2\. I don't imply. Which goes to say, what I see in my mind is what you will see in yours. There won't be holding back. I will be forward in my writing. **

**The chapter is short because I need opinions/inputs before submitting the following chapters, in case I need to alter/sensor anything.**

**Thank you in advance!**


	24. Smoke and Mirrors

For several days, Claude did not see Esmeralda.

The exodus of students would come and go and still, her seat remained empty.

He found himself often staring at the entrance as they all filed into take their seats. Some came in pairs; some entered quietly. Others, more pronouncing in their arrival than the rest. But they did have something in common; none were Esmeralda and her absence was becoming a deafening silence.

Lina had finally accepted their fate as ex-husband and ex-wife. Even now, as he sat among his pupils lecturing the topics of pious and secular regards, she was at home, gathering her belongings and readying to move east to her sister's in Massachusetts. The hours she had spent pleading were exhausting for Claude, and when she finally gave way, he was utmost relieved. Albeit, a portion of it held a heaviness in his heart, but he would be lying to say that was the only affliction he felt. With the sudden and unexplained absence of Esmeralda, his mind was clouded with dismal, so much so that it troubled him at night, shepherded him into wakefulness until morning. Even pills couldn't lull the professor the solace of sleep.

About the room, his students studied quietly. He offered a break among them to study among one another so long as they kept it under a reasonable volume. Exams were on the horizon. The end of the semester was only a few weeks away. Much to his surprise, they remained quiet. There was the occasional whisper of paper as they worked amongst each other, coupled with a muttering of the sort. He clung to their hushed voices, living vicariously in hopes of a distraction from his troubled mind. Perhaps theirs could alleviate his own. Whatever it took to keep his mind from wandering.

The past few days had conjured a sort of corrosive worry, slowly eroding him from inside. It stirred Claude throughout the night and staved off his appetite. Mornings came with an empty stomach and a weeping wife, over and over. The trials never seemed to stray from their numbing course. But it was all absentminded, for Claude could not tend to these matters if his life depended on it.

As of late, he was unable to reach his own conclusion and move on; everything felt so unsettled and latent. He was not one to mull over conflict or disagreement, no. Once Claude had his mind made up, it remained so. He took pride in being steadfast in his ways, much like his current strife with Lina. He had tried so many times to answer the questions that plagued his mind on why she would wish to separate. Eventually, concision came and settled the score; a divorce it would be and a divorce she would get.

He sat back in his chair and regarded his computer once more. The number of times he had checked the roster was, frankly, embarrassing. And even still, he found himself waking the screen. He expanded the spreadsheet but nothing had changed; her name resided at the bottom. She had not, in fact, dropped the class. Not yet, at least. Unlike the divorce, this would haunt him until he spoke to Esmeralda again, until _she_ surrendered to his wishes and gave him another chance. For now, he would remain steadfast, despite that he was drowning in misery.

In a top drawer to his left held his phone and keys. Normally, he had the device on silent or turned off completely, left unchecked until the end of the day. But as of late, it remained on and volume high. Though knowing this only heightened the tumultuous discord that devoured him from the inside. Every passing minute that it resided silent and unchanged ate at him. He _hated_ this feeling! The insurmountable state of impotency that had his quality of life by the neck!

Respiring in annoyance, Claude ran a hand through his silver hair. He reclined further to cross his legs and wait for the hour to pass while lacing his fingers together at the base of his neck. One by one, he watched the number of his students slowly dwindle. Outside, the sun began to sink closer to the horizon. Already at such a low angle due to winter, it was dark before the last student finally left. As if waiting for the last body to leave, a wave of exhaustion came over him as soon as the auditorium door shut.

The thought of returning home where Lina awaited him was tiring enough.

_A quick nap_. He thought to himself.

Eventually, he drifted asleep and began to dream.

_"I didn't think you be the type to attend football games," a female voice quipped._

_A certain annoyance, still lingering from his wakened state, followed him as he strode across the parking lot. He heard the voice, but he chose to ignore it. Around him drifted snowflakes, gentle and quiet in their descent. A wintry chill bit into his cheeks. _

_Claude stopped short and turned at once when the familiarity took hold.__ Amidst a parking lot under a gentle snow fall was she; the beautiful..._

_"Esmeralda," a nervousness took hold, constricting his throat, but the words still came. "I was summoned here on behalf of the school board. It reflects well on the morale to see even employees attending extracurricular activities," he said._

_"Ahhh," there was a smile among the tenor of her voice. "Do you have anything planned for tonight?"_

_The comprehension was there, coaxing him to remember such a night as the words came from his mouth, not elicited by a moments conjure, but in recollection; an unfolding memory._

_"No," his breath came out a wispy cloud, disintegrating at once. "This was all I had planned for my evening."_

_He watched her smile as she glanced at the blinding stadium and then returned her gaze. "Do you mind giving me a ride? My roommate ditched me." She paused to glance up at the snowflakes cascading around her. "I don't really want to walk into the snow and it is getting pretty dark."_

_He felt himself smiling._

_Of course._

Claude snapped awake, nearly spilling from his chair with such fervor as the dream burned away from his consciousness. He glanced at his wrist watch in panic.

It was almost midnight. He'd been asleep for nearly six hours. He then checked his phone to see a number of missed calls from Lina.

Gathering his belongings, he reluctantly hurried home.

* * *

Now at home after a day that seemed to last indefinitely, Claude came through the foyer will little intent on discussing anything with anyone, especially Lina. He knew he would find her waiting in the darkness of their once shared home, writhing with guilt and sorrow. In truth, he found it annoying that she spent most of the day waiting for him to witness her condition. After all, she brought this upon herself. Did she feel she was the only one suffering from this divorce? What had she expected to happen when a man and woman separate? With the transition nigh and set in motion between two attorneys, it appeared as if it were nothing by tricks and mind games; that she believed threatening their unity would somehow provide her with some upper level advantage. If she thought scaring Claude was how to obtain things, she'd find her antics were erroneous, at best.

Peeling off his winter layers, he draped the scarf and peacoat about the rack and began slipping off his leather gloves. A fire had been lit and now swathed the vast room in the warmth of a golden glow. He could feel the heat drifting passed him, and the way the shadows bounced along the walls, lithe and swift, reminded him so much of someone else.

Another pang of discomfort squeezed at his chest as he entered into the living room where Lina and the fire she drew awaited him.

"How was work?" She meekly inquired as he sauntered towards the wet bar. From there, Claude decanted a single glass of whiskey, swirling the contents around with the glass before raising it for a sip.

He considered answering her, but after the thought, it exhausted him to even pretend. So Lina's inquiry fell onto deaf ears as Claude continued to study the amber liquid before him.

He took another sip. This time he allowed the taste to settle upon his tongue before swallowing. It scorched a path into him, igniting him within. He was a wine sort of man, but occasionally when things became askew, he found a glass or two of something strong and unforgiving helped take the edge away.

As he brought the decanter up and began to pour a second glass, an unmistakable trembling took hold. The clattering sound of bumping glass resonated about the room, sloshing the liquid into the glass until he sat the decanter down. He gazed down at his hands, unsure if the shadows that danced across his palms were of the fire or himself.

The room grew uncomfortably hot. He cleared his throat as the air fell stifled and thick. He was uncomfortable around her now. He should have slept in his office.

Turning from the wet bar, he regarded Lina offhandedly. He had nothing to say to her, and she, him. Undeniably, she read his expression. He felt himself wishing to blame her for everything that had transpired. If she hadn't wanted a divorce, he wouldn't have had such a moment of weakness. He would have never entertained Esmeralda from the beginning. None of this would have happened!

Reaching into his pocket, Claude retrieved his cell phone and began dialing the number.

_To hell with Lina. To hell with these mind games!_

He brought the phone to his ears as it began to ring. His heart steadily climbing upward into his throat as he waited for her to answer. At once, scenarios began to play in his mind. He started thinking of what he would say, the questions that he needed answered, and her whereabouts.

_It rang and rang..._

Would she even answer?

_It continued to ring..._

Unsure if his actions were warranted, Claude remained on the line even when he lost count of how many rings had passed. Lina had been watching him wearily, certainly curious on whom he was calling. He moved away to enter the kitchen. All the while, it rang until...

The line picked up.

He was met with only a heavy silence as Claude waited for a greeting of any sort.

After a few seconds of nothing but static, he decided to speak.

"Hello?" He carefully inquired, bracing for the sound of Esmeralda castigating him, hoping for the reprimand of her voice.

But only more silence enveloped.

"Do not call this number anymore." A man's voice suddenly deadpanned.

"Who is this?" Claude inquired, stunned with bewilderment.

_Why was a man answering!_

Fueled by spite and stubbornness, Claude demanded, "Let me speak to Esmeralda!"

And then he heard her, in the distance under an emission of terror as she began to scream his name.


	25. Bittersweet

Waking up in the arms of her capture had startling effects.

At first, Esmeralda was confused and highly disoriented, but at once, the pain brought it all back. It waved through her, throbbing her skull and singing down to the marrow of her bones. As she recognized the coppery tang that sat heavily on her tongue, she recalled the unfortunate transgression. She was supposed to meet up with Claude. The night was cold and quiet. He came from behind, but it wasn't Claude.

_Phoebus_, she realized, had her in an embrace as if to coddle her in some sort of assuaging attempt. But the fear had set in, squeezing her lungs as a debilitating panic took rule of all thought. She began to thrash, to struggle in every attempt to severe contact. But he held fast, pulling her closer as her eyes squeezed tight as a scream scorched her throat. She could feel his hot breath wash over her like a stench and before long, she felt his lips. They traced her neck, then her jaw line until he sought her mouth.

She stilled as he pressed his mouth to hers. And though her panic-laden heart raced, the kiss was gentle. He pulled away to gaze into her eyes with steady blue pools. There was pain there, a reflection of her own plight in his eyes as he looked upon her, imploring her to see passed the fright and hysteria.

But she couldn't and her entire body continued to tremble as her eyes began to well with tears.

"Please, don't do this." She whispered. Her jaw rattled her teeth together, but not out of chills.

The tears fell from their corners, racing passed her temples and ears, lost into the tresses of her messy hair.

He brought a hand up to trace a finger delicately across her quivering lip. She opted to turn away, but fear was an inhibiting beast.

"I'm sorry this had to happen to you." He whispered back, reaching over to wipe another stream of tears from her eyes.

She squeezed her eyes shut in effort to gather enough courage to find her voice again. "Please," the word came out as a tremor, barely audible. "Just let me go. I won't tell anyone."

He stroked her hair as she began to cry, every so often, catching a tear before it reached the floor.

* * *

Esmeralda had cried herself to exhaustion. She'd never been a weeping one, but there was a certainty of her death that seemed to loom over her, shadowing her with doubt and regret, and of course, fear. Now she sat upon the cold floor with her back to the wall, accompanied only by her finally steady heartbeat and the damp smell of mold.

Phoebus had left her to her own device in the basement and once it he disappeared upstairs, she quickly made haste to scour the innards of her confinement. Albeit, after she mustered the courage to move from her spot.

First, she went to the only pair of windows. Outside was washed in pale light and a thick bleak overcast snuffed out the sun. It hung so low, she imagined the tree tops tickling the bellies of the cloud while her hands work around the edges for a latch or break in integrity.

No avail. Not even a breeze detected.

She stepped down from the rickety table that sat beneath the windows and respired. She glanced up the stairs to listen before returning to her task at hand; escaping. But when she scanned around the basement, aided only by the light at the top of the stairs and whatever shine came through the windows, she found the place to be a collection of paintings and art supplies. Dirty cups collected paint brushes and bottles of paint littered the floor and tables.

Another respire seized the rise and fall of her weary shoulders. She had already checked her persons after her left, hoping Phoebus hadn't searched her while she was unconscious. Unfortunately, the keys to her dorm and her cell phone were missing. She hoped it had been lost during their strife and not taken. If the right person found it, they could have started looking for her, perhaps alerting the police of her disappearance.

And for the first time since she had arrived, she thought of Claude.

Her heart depleted with angst and new tears were quick to arrive, hot and fat, rolling over her cheeks. She stuffed her face into her hands and suppressed the cry that threatened to spill over her lips as her shoulders quaked, gently. But now was not the time to cry and feel pitiful. She took a deep breath, unsteady with sorrow-filled lungs, exhaled and strode across the room where stacks of paintings rest against the wall beneath tattered sheets.

* * *

She had only meant to understand him, but instead, she only delved deeper into the fear-fueled reality of her dire situation and her inevitable demise.

In the hours she had been left alone, she tried to keep herself busy. It proved to be easier than she anticipated, because as her curiosity propelled her to sift through his artwork. But the busyness was a curse, filled with fretting, suffocating bouts of sobs and panic attacks the deeper she dug.

The paintings.

The paintings said it all.

The first was harmless; a white barn owl with beady black eyes. But as she progressed through the portraits, the more malignant and grotesque they became.

A werewolf whose muzzle dripped in a frothy crimson. Its lips peeled back in a perpetual snarl, revealing the rows of canines, yellow and decaying. The eyes were wide and pale, staring into Esmeralda like a cattle prod searing into flesh. The widened eyes were unnatural, almost human and hysteric with rage. She returned the sheet and moved to the next.

A woman, she supposed, with ashen skin and no eyes, not even the characteristics, just flesh over what should be the place for eyes. Her skin was cracked, seeping an obsidian substances from within that followed the uneven planes of her white skin. Her mouth was obscured by a terrible wound, also black and barely distinguishable lips beyond that. She covered it with its respective sheet.

Another woman behind that with wispy white hair that drifted down to bare shoulders, also without eyes. Her expression was a scream, but her jaw was missing, leaving a gaping gash between her top teeth down to the center of her collar bone. The flesh was dimpled and wet with red, making Esmeralda's stomach roll.

She stopped there, letting the sheet fall back into place as a cold sweat came over her brow. What did she remember of Phoebus?

Not enough, she realized. She'd been too wrapped up in Claude to see she had created friction and error elsewhere. If she had tended to Phoebus by placating his affection, this could have been avoided. She could have said something sooner, instead of allowing the wound to fester and become infected.

She glanced once more at the conceals portraits. Despite their countenances hidden, she could still feel them.

_Perhaps, the wounds had been infected long before she arrived._

* * *

Frigid, calm, with a low, but stable, overcast.

Before Phoebus were the skeleton remains of dark trees with gnarled limbs, stretching their black reaches into the obscured sky. He preferred the cold weather. Though humans were subtropic animals and thus had better survivability in warmer climates, after sweating blood and sand for months on end, he found winter to be far more forgiving than the scorching desert.

For once, he was in a stable mood. He finally reined in the emotion, the instability, the unknowing, and voices in its wake. It was quiet now, like the winter before him. He knew once he obtained her, it would return to tranquility. That's all he wanted. He never wanted to hurt anyone. He just wanted things to go his way. It was as simple as pulling the trigger.

_Don't think about it. Just do it._

The seemingly detached statement had turned into a mantra for him, helping him clear the top of a difficult decision. It was a memory at first, now it was a motto.

In the corners of his mind, he heard the echo of a gunshot. At the beginning return home, it used to startle him. It wasn't a lone gunshot. There were many and they all used to take him back to groveling within the sand, sifting through bodies to find comrades. But eventual, he grew desensitized. The voice, one of the many, belonged to another soldier.

He chuckled to himself. A cup of coffee sat in his hand as he stood out on the porch of his cabin. Upon its black surface rose thin tendrils of steam. He watched them rise languidly before diminishing as the winter air dissolved its heat.

He drank the remaining before returning inside. He had started a fire, and tidied up the place. He hated leaving her down there where the heat strayed, but he had to make sure she was concealed long enough before bringing her up, in case any curious passersby came within the perimeter of his cabin.

The land was too vast. Hunters, trackers, animals traversed the thicket. Most of the time, they remained too far out of his detection to pose any problem. But just out of his own surety, Phoebus set traps and snares, dug pits into the earth and hid them with canopies and ghillie tarps.

Once he was sure she would abide to his wishes, he'd allow her to roam free. It would take some time to gain enough trust and reason for this to transpire, but Phoebus was a patient man. Albeit, she was a mess and needed tended too before long. Her hair was matted and the blood he had drawn dried and cracked against her skin. She would need stitches and to be under careful watch for infection.

A fire cracked and popped from within its hearth and the familiar schtick was there.

He really wanted to spend some time with her. He also wanted to paint. An image was amidst genesis and he needed to get it out before it gained a voice.

He sat his empty mug down quickly and headed for the basement.

* * *

Upon heavy footfalls, Phoebus descended the stairs with enough racket to alert the woman down below. He didn't want to sneak up on her and frighten her any more. She was spooked enough as is.

When he made it to the bottom, she was backed up into the farthest corner provided, her knees drawn into her chest. Fear still shadowed her expression and distrust turned her lips into a frown. Could she not feel that he cared for her? He sighed.

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his denim jeans and said, "You need a bath." He kept his stance relaxed and open in hope that she wouldn't see him as a threat. But after the first night he treated her, it might take weeks.

Her arms with crossed tightly over her shoulders and her dirty socks were beginning to tear. A toe peeked out from the top. She met him only with silence, but judging by the flushed pink that kissed her cheeks, she had been crying and was still upset.

"And I'm going to assume you're hungry." He continued.

Her scowl remained as she regarded him, waiting to see if his suggest for food was one of honesty.

"Come on," he continued. "Let's get you cleaned up and fed."

* * *

**[A/N]: You guys are a brave bunch, but you have to be when it comes to Fresme, huh? Much apologies for the delay in update, I was back and forth with this chapter. Wrote it, deleted it. Rewrote it, still didn't sit well. I want to keep the story moving without losing too many details and I'm satisfied with the speed of this one.**

**I hope you all had a Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! Let me know what you think of the chapter! Oh, and if I don't put out a chapter before Thursday, have a SAFE and fun New Years!**

**AND GO SEE THE NEW STAR WARS! **


	26. Infection

**For Ukaske's soul.**

* * *

After several moments of weighing her options, Esmeralda allowed herself to be led upstairs. The basement was a harsh comparison to the comforts the ground floor offered. The cabin was rustic under the swathe of warm goldens and brown with deer antlers and bear skins. It was warm with a hearty fire place lit under a chandelier made of antler bones.

Phoebus gave her a moment to take in the scene.

It was small, providing one with what they only needed a nothing more. But cozy, nonetheless. The mantle was made entirely of stone and it followed the face of the wall before disappearing into the ceiling to continue its path outside.

The warmth encompassed her and she rose her arms to wrap them around her, capturing the heat. She felt him brush her shoulder as he stepped closer to her. He wanted intimacy, she knew this. Jealousy, pride, and rejection had drove him to this point and claiming her was his only option.

If she played the game, maybe she could survive long enough to escape.

* * *

Phoebus led her to the bathroom where he took it upon himself to draw the bath water. Every so often, he checked the temperature with his hand until the water blushed his finger tips. He stood from the edge of the tub and regarded her. She was by the window, leaning on the seal and staring out into the winter evening. He approached her and she flinched when he took the hem of her hoodie and began lifting the fabric up. She stood reluctantly, stepping away from the window and raising her arms.

He smiled as he peeled the top away, but was quick to hid his accomplishment by the time it reached over her head. His hands came to her hips and she used his shoulders to steady herself as she stepped out of her sweats. She discarded her socks on her own until she stood in nothing by a bra and panties.

The roaring sound of water filled the bathroom as the two stilled.

His own heart was beating rapidly. He could only imagine what she was feeling. She retracted her hands from his shoulders and wrapped the around her own. He could see the chills that prickled her tiny frame. He reached up and touched her bruised cheek, watching as she winced from him.

"It's okay," he whispered, perhaps too softly. He watched as she turned her head away, severing his gentle touch. She wouldn't look him in the eyes.

It wouldn't happen today, maybe, not tomorrow or weeks from now.

But he would gain her trust, and thus, her love.

Eventually… He had all the time in the world.

* * *

The bathtub was now mixture of blood and dirt, clouding the once clear water to a murky substance, but she felt tremendously better to have the soot washed clean. She hadn't eaten in days, it seemed, but the fear propelled her through the night and kept the hunger staved off until now. And finally, her belly growled and grumbled.

Phoebus had the decency to allow the time to herself as she cleaned, leaving a fresh towel upon the counter. She was just now crawling out of the tub and reaching for it when the pounding footfalls of Phoebus made way towards the bathroom.

She snatched up the towel and quickly wrapped it around herself as the door flew open with such force, it collided into the wall, bounced back, and vibrated on its hinges. He loomed in with deep scowl and jutted an arm forward at her.

Out of reaction, she scrambled back, nearly sprawling back into the draining tub. Her eyes darted to the object he held; her phone.

And it was ringing.

The gentle disposition that once graced his countenance had long vanished. Something else had taken hearth and she could hear the heavy breathes, flaring from his nostrils above pinched lips. His face was flushed red.

It took little time to recognize the number, although she hadn't saved it in her phone.

Claude was calling.

Between Phoebus and the ringing phone, her eyes darted. Unsure she was, if he wanted an explanation, or for her to answer the call. With the shrill song of the phone splintering the silence, Esmeralda decided to reach for it, only for him to slap her hand away, causing her to yelp in surprise.

She stumbled back until the frame of the tub bumped into her back legs as he answered the call.

The tub had emptied in time for a heavy silence to befall them. Her ears strained for his voice, for even Phoebus to say something while panic and a sliver of hope begun to brew in her gut.

After struggling for a voice, _his _voice, it was finally Phoebus who spoke. She could see the contortion on his face whether or not he should have answer, reddening by the second.

"Do not call this number anymore." He seethed with evident anger scratching his parlance as he stared into Esmeralda.

He was about to hang up, she realized. Hope was on the other end of the line. How many days had passed? It didn't matter. Claude knew something was awry. But what were her options? She couldn't ask to speak to him. Phoebus would surely deny her.

So she screamed.

She screamed his name until her voice broke under the strain, and Phoebus reacted almost immediately. He threw the phone, shattering the mirror of the bathroom as it collided against it.

He lunged and she moved. Ducking as he went to grab her, Esmeralda raced out of the bathroom. The cabin wasn't too small, but she had passed the front door on her way from up from the basement. She knew where to find it. Hurling down the short hallway, Esmeralda whipped around the corner, towel-cladded, hair wet, and went for the door. She burst forth, throwing the door from her path while one hand clutched the folds of the towel close.

Fear had engorged her veins with adrenaline which numbed her from the cold as she broke out into the winter night. Phoebus hot on her heels. She dug her feet into the earth, springing lithely over anything that came into her path. But her efforts were short lived as Phoebus had leaped forward, spearing her in the back with his shoulder. They both fell and she lost purchase of the earth beneath her feetl, hitting the cold ground as they tumbled.

When their moment came to a halt, Phoebus was atop of her. His hands were wrapped firmly around her neck and he was squeezing.

She couldn't breathe.

The cold was biting into her.

A break in the overcast gave her a glimpse of twilight, but it was fading.

Blood had flooded her vision.

His face.

His hands so tight around her neck.

This monster.

_This infection…._

_Was going to kill her._


	27. The Holy Ghost

Esmeralda woke in a snap. She lifted her head to gaze around the room despite the pain elicited around her neck. _He_ was across the room, sitting on a wooden chair. It wasn't a nightmare she'd finally awaken from. She was still here, stuck in the middles with an unstable man. A fire was lit and in his lap was a canvas. He was scribbling furiously and when he glanced up, their eyes met.

She didn't need a moment to gather her thoughts. The fear was still fresh from the earlier encounter and had to work her lungs with measured breaths. Her eyes felt raw with every blink, even her throat was scorched. She wondered if her voice would be grated, as well. Rising onto her posterior, Esmeralda then realized a thin, dingy chemise had been fashioned about her body. She drew her legs in and addressed the silent man across the room carefully. His quiet demeanor was, in itself, thunderous and apprehending. She refused meet his eyes, staring into the dancing fire behind him. It reminded her of Claude and the fire that witnessed a very passionate night. Phoebus picked the canvas up from his lap and flipped it around for her to see.

She shifted her eyes towards the portraits, scouring every stroke of colors, brash and stark, against a black background. The focal point was dead center with the depiction of a woman strewn naked across the floor, grotesquely eviscerated but eyes wide and alive. Her mouth grew dry as her heart dropped with trepidation. The woman ,wide eyed and fearful, was ashen and screaming in, what could only be, agony . Around her were thick silhouettes, at least a dozen, watching as she bled out. An audience to her likely demise so should she decide to flee a second time. Harsh strokes of crimson were swiped around her hands and feet along the floor as if she struggled violently in throes of pain and anguish while the bystanders watched.

The longer Esmeralda looked at the picture, the faster her fear ascended and the harder her heart hammered. Along her shoulders, her fingers dug, biting her nails into her flesh. She tried to stifle the tremor that reigned her figure, but it was useless. No matter how adamantly she could hide her fear, Phoebus knew she was afraid and it would be in vain to pretend otherwise. Without question, the portrait was a vivid portrayal of the consequences of her actions lest she try to escape again.

The pops and crackling of the fire place seemed to lure her gaze towards its languid flames. Despite staring into the shifting inferno, the image still burned a home into her mind.

Slowly, Phoebus stood, setting his threatening canvas aside and approaching her. Harder, she pulled into herself, drawing her knees closer and casting her eyes to the floor. He knelt beside her and brushed away a thick strand of hair. She winced reflexively and he made a quick sucking of his teeth, disappointed somehow that she would recoil from the likes of him. He reached in and took her by the chin, steering her to face him head on.

There was seething fury in his eyes, then a flicker of concern, only to be swallowed by that same dark hatred once again. The man barely had control of himself. His face was still flushed and glistening from sweat. Stunned by fear, Esmeralda was incognizant of the hot tears that fell from the corner of her eyes. Somewhere in the room, a woman whimpered. The fire continued to crackle and fizz.

"You know I don't want to hurt you," his voice broke the quiet room. She shut her eyes, startled by the sullen scratches along his deep inflection. He ran a thumb over her jawline and squeezed her lightly, causing her to snap open her eyes. She gritted her teeth and breathed arduously through her nose, trying not to cry or produce sound.

"The sooner you realize that, the better it'll be for both of us." A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he dropped his eyes onto her mouth. She watched as his licked his lips, which could only mean one thing. He leaned in.

She flinched, nearly yanking free but he held her still with a firm grip.

Their lips brushed and she felt her stomach twist and roll. His tongue lapped against her, pushing firmly along her mouth, demanding entry.

"Kiss me," he whispered against her as he released her jaw to grip her shoulders. He shifted on his feet, urging her back, but she resisted by turning her head quickly away. Still, her arms held firmly across her chest as her knees pressed into each other. Despite that a fire place was aflame and just feet away, the heat failed to reach her.

* * *

The call ended.

As Claude stood stunned amidst his living room with a fire ablaze and a wondering wife, his thoughts began to rush. They filled his head with question and alarm. He couldn't single one out if he tried. He couldn't focus. There was a pounding in his chest and it was difficult to breathe. Across the room, the flames danced wildly, seemingly feeding off the sudden frenzy of emotion that currently seized Claude.

"Who was that?" Lina's voice came.

The sound of her voice jolted him, releasing him from that inhibiting spell like a shock of electricity. He looked to the door of his homestead. The shadows that surrounded his coat rack, too far for the fire's breath and light to reach. The keys along the dresser were nearby.

He moved towards the door. Now wasn't the time to think, there wasn't any time for that. He needed to go at once.

"Where are you going?" Lina asked as he yanked his peacoat from the rack and donned it.

_Blast the buttons!_ He thought as he slung a scarf about his neck carelessly and snatched up his keys.

From the time the call ended until now as he marched out into the frigid night, only seconds had passed. He heard the front door slam, but he was across the front yard by then. Lina's voice came again with the proverbial flurry of questions and concern. He wished that woman would just be silent!

His car chirped as the doors unlocked. He slipped into the dark interior and turned the engine over, slamming the gear into reverse and speeding out of the driveway.

_Where was he going?_

He wasn't sure.

But something, God forbid, _wasn't right._

* * *

It was terribly late, but the campus of Notre Dame came into view. The street lamps with their golden blossoms of light led him to her dormitory. She had to be here, perhaps playing some sick game on him with her friends.

Immediately, Claude pushed the acidic thought from his mind as he pulled into the parking lot.

_No,_ he knew something was wrong. The sound of her voice was no jest. The sound of that man's voice; sinister and unnatural. Demonic.

He barely allowed the car to come to a complete stopped before he killed the engine and hurried inside.

Claude was already mounting the steps before he realized there would be some form of security awaiting him inside. But time was dire, he felt, as he shoved passed the thick wooden doors and entered the brightly lit foyer.

Empty. No guard. No isolated soul standing watch by the door. Who in heaven was in charge of this establishment, he wondered.

He scoured the first floor. Fortunately, a number of the doors were labeled with whomever resided within the spaces; none of which provided him was he sought. After racing down the entire hallway, breathlessy, he moved onto the second floor.

As he came from the stairwell, a peel of laughter halted him in place before he could breach the corridor. High in tenure and delicate, but not Esmeralda's.

Taking a chance, Claude drew his collar close to his mouth, hoping to stifle his pants as he peeked the corner.

All blondes. Three, standing outside of one of their doors. The cackle continued as the conversation ensued. Claude stepped back and respired deeply. He didn't want to be seen here, assuming that males weren't allowed into female dormitories. It made perfect sense to him, but times do change.

A moment passed, and the voices softened, thinned even, until a door shut. Claude shot a glance down the corridor a second time. It was empty, but he gave it another pause to make sure it was safe to move.

When that time came, he hurried.

Walking as fast as he could without running or creating a ruckus that it garnered onlookers, he searched for her door.

The names flew by. A variety of common names to exotic, illegible bits. He feared he might over look...

_Esmeralda_

_Nadia_

_208_

Claude stopped short and brought himself close to the door. He listened but he couldn't hear anything passed his hammering heart and heavy pants.

Gritting his teeth, he spared a glance down the corridor both ways before bringing his hand up. He rapped his knuckles softly against the door.

_Silence._

"Someone, please." He prayed under his breath. Staring at his feet, he risked another knock, firmer this time. He flattened his gloved hands against the surface of the wooden door and prayed fervently for an answer.

If no one did, where would he go from here? This was his only lead and it seemed to be coming to a dead end.

The sound of a bolt unlocking caused Claude to step back as the door eased open.

"Esmeralda?" He breathed, looking into the shadows.

"No," a different voice croaked, drawing the door wider until the light spilled in from the hall. "Nadia."

The girl was quiet catching, but sub par to Esmeralda but by only a fraction. Her dark hair was mussed from sleep and she wore but only a t shirt before him.

"Oh, pardon me," his spirit depleted, "I'm looking for Esmeralda."

"So am I." Nadia implored, "Do you know where she is?"

Risking a glance, but hoping to still provide a modicum of decency for the young girl, Claude met her dark gaze and shook his head.

"I'm afraid not." He whispered with a tremor. "I-"

"Come inside," the girl interrupted, sidestepping and widening the entrance. "Let's talk in here."

* * *

The girl named Nadia graced him with a pair of sweatpants and a robe to cover her disheveled...ness. She sat across the room from him along the edge of her bed with her legs crossed.

"I woke and she was gone." Nadia repeated, "Her bed was emptied. Her cell phone was gone. I tried calling it a thousand times."

Claude listened silently, gathering as much of the details as he could while putting his own pieces together as she went on.

"I haven't seen, or heard from her since," she finished. "I don't really know how many days it's been, really. I'm freaking out."

Claude was leaning against the door with his hands stuffed into his pockets, lost in thought.

"This isn't like her," Nadia muttered, unfolding her legs and standing. She opened a draw nearby and drew out a pack of cigarettes. Returning to her bed, she eased her bedside window open and lit a cigarette.

With her back towards him, Claude sighed while drawing a hand down his face. He was exasperated now. The girl hardly provided anything of value to him.

"Does she have any ex-boyfriends?"

A thin plume of smoke billowed out from unseen lips into the night air as Nadia mulled her answer.

"No," she scoffed, tapping her cigarette. "Just you."

Claude squared his shoulders. "Esmeralda is my student. I'm only here because I'm concerned for her."

Glancing over her shoulder, Nadia shot him an incredulous look. "Please, professor, I know more about you and her than you do."

"Enough," he hissed. He wasn't about to delve into his personal affairs with some tart he just met. "Do you know anything else? Someone who despised her? Someone who, perhaps, had issues with her? A run in of the sort?"

His words must have triggered a memory, something she hadn't immediately recalled. "Yes," she seemed fixated for a moment. "There was someone."

Nadia shifted her startling gaze onto Claude and the look alone chilled his bones.

"I know where she is..."

* * *

**Hello, again! Forgive this awful delay in updates. I had to play soldier in another state, but I'm home now. And here we go...**


	28. A Newcomer

The two story house appeared empty. And starkly distasteful, it was.

Claude stepped out of his purring car to regard it closely, leaving Nadia, his guide, inside where it was warm and safe.

He glanced at his watch and set his jaw. Two thirty in the morning. He glared back at the poorly maintained stag house and felt his stomach twist with pain. The yard was near bare with lawn chairs toppled and scattered about. Random items were lodged in the shrubs by the porch, ranging from footballs to shoes and beer cans. An American flag, tattered and faded, hung lifeless from its pole.

Clearing his throat, Claude gathered the collar of his pea coat to stave off the biting chill. He began his investigation around the property. Prowling the porch, looking through the windows and checking for unlocked doors, he returned to his car when he was certain the house was empty.

"No one is here." His voice came over the soft hum of the car once the door shut.

Nadia leaned over, craning her head so that she could take a look into the shell of a dwelling from the driver's window. "Then I don't know where else to check." She sat back into her seat and crossed an arm over her chest while chewing on the thumb nail of the other. A singular leg began to bounce as she rifled her memory.

Claude had his hands resting along the steering wheel as they waited. For whatever reason, Claude didn't believe Nadia could see how dire this was to him. Tightening his grip, he closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He placed the car in drive and turned around.

Nadia was silent at first.

Claude was hoping she would not attempt at conversing with him. Frankly, she took this entire transgression far better than he had, he thought. Perhaps, they weren't as good of friends as he presumed.

"There's one other place," her voice whispered into the dark interior as they left the neighborhood.

A muscle in Claude's jaw set as he waited for her to continue.

"However, it's out of state. Upper New York, I believe." Nadia shifted in her seat for a more comfortable position. "The house we were out belongs to a friend of mine, that's how I knew about it."

Claude maintained his silence. He was at his wit's ends with a head full of turmoil and nightmarish results should he not find Esmeralda in time. His dream, he realized now, had been a premonition. Something he'd never done before.

A moment's pause came and went for the two strangers and it was awfully uncomfortable for Claude. He thought about how relieving it would be to drop her off at the dormitory and head home so he could think. What he needed was a glass of wine, he mused internally, something to loosen the tightness along his shoulders.

Ahead, a traffic light switched to yellow.

Claude eased off the gas and brought the vehicle to a gentle stop. Now that the voiceless hum of a passing road vanished, Claude was left with a hammering anxious heart and the last person to see Esmeralda.

"What can you tell me about this place?" He asked carefully, hoping to hide the desperate tremor that hid beneath his inflection.

"It's far," she began quietly. "I don't know where it is exactly. I mean, I don't know the address at all. I've never been there."

"Then how did you come to the knowledge of it?"

She paused, almost struggling to find the words. "Someone I used to know likes to visit up there."

He could tell that was all she could say on the matter.

"Upstate New York," Claude echoed softly. The light turned green, at last, and the drive continued.

For the second time that night, Claude found himself back on campus. He hadn't stopped conjuring plans to gain Esmeralda back, despite having so little to work from. Nadia was still proving herself useless. He needed more.

As he parked outside of the very dorm Esmeralda had once stayed, Nadia quietly unbuckled herself.

She reached for the door, but paused. Through the corner of his eye, Claude knew she was regarding him. Suddenly, she was stretching over the center console, reaching for him. Her arms snaked themselves around his shoulders, pulling him into an uncomfortable embrace where she whispered, "I hope we find her."

Initially, Claude froze, but eventually, an arm disconnected from the steering wheel and found a nearby shoulder. He patted her gently, long enough to conclude the hug. She let go and quickly got out.

Remaining parked, he watched her head inside until she disappeared behind the doors before placing it in drive and returning home.

The drive was quick. It helped that Claude was not interested in following the speed limit or keeping watch for stationed cops around bends or speed traps. It was also his lucky night when he reached his homestead without hang ups or flashing lights.

Throwing the car in park, he hurried out and marched across the sidewalk leading to his front door. The night ended unsatisfactory and it would continue to remain so, so long as the answers were without reach. He knew sleep was out of question for him. Shoving the keys in, he stepped into the warm confines of his estate and stopped short.

Lina was still awake, eyeing him from the living room and the fire was still going, brightly too. Someone was sitting next to her.

With Claude's current plight, he feared the worse, that whomever had Esmeralda, had also found him and thus, found Lina. His stomach dropped as he faltered at the entrance of his home. He remembered where he hid his rifle, but it was not within reach.

The newcomer stood, allowing Lina's shadow to slip away and the fire's light to reveal his countenance to Claude.

"Hello, father." The young lad stood, towering over Lina, despite his disfigurement which brought one shoulder significantly lower than the other.

Quasimodo, Claude and Lina's adopted son, had returned from abroad.

Baffled initially, Claude was uncertain at just _which_ news pulled him from his studies in France. But quickly dismissed the confusion. It could only be one thing.

"My dear boy," his managed, draping his peacoat along the rack. "What a pleasant surprise."

Quasimodo lurched forward with his perpetual limp, another affliction bestowed upon him from an unnamed mother too strung out to know better. A portion of Claude was pleased to see him. However, the remaining was furious that Lina would drag him into all this. He realized only until now that her comment from the earlier evening was only a foreshadow to what she had been devising. The boy, more of a man now, was well into his twenties with his own life at hand, but of course, this mattered not to Lina. She wanted an audience, it seemed. Quasimodo had moved away some years ago, perhaps, that's when Claude's marriage began to disintegrate. He and Lina no longer had something to distract themselves from one another.

Claude met Quasimodo with an outstretched hand, but was pulling into a firm embrace instead. With his arms around the broad shoulders, he realized the boy had definitely grown into a man.

"How are you?" He whispered into Claude's ear as they held each other. It was just enough affection and concern to wrap so tightly around Claude's chest, he feared he would break before Quasimodo. Severing the hug almost immediately, Claude cast his gaze to the plush floor rug beneath their feet should the fire reflect the glisten in his eye.

"I'm well," he patted the thick shoulder. "I'll be seeing myself to bed now."

It was ploy to leave them to themselves. No matter how much he cared for Lina at once, dealing with any further issues was suffocating to think about. There was so sleep in the matter and certainly not now that Lina was stirring more people into the brew that was their failed marriage. He squeezed the boy gently and left them.

* * *

Another night it was in the parlor where he spent much of his evenings away from Lina. A pillow rested on the settee and blanket strewn carelessly next to it. He had dressed down to his pajamas and a smoking jacket before he settled in for the night. He didn't light a fire nor did he pull the blanket over him. He stared into the ceiling and waited.

In minutes, a soft knock came from across the room and without giving word, it drifted open.

Reaching above his head, Claude switched on a lamp by the end of the settee and eyed the door.

The mop of red hair. The sheepish smile, those two uneven shoulders.

"What is it, Quasimodo?" Claude required, hoping the ice along his voice wasn't too deterring. If the discussion came anywhere near the question of his marriage, the night would certainly be long.

"Lina is concerned," Quasimodo replied, stepping into the room and shutting the door. "So am I."

Claude sat upright. A deep sigh filled the room as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please understand, I can't discuss this matter any further. I'm exhausted."

Quasimodo came to his side to sit along the settee. "Is this about the girl? Mother spoke of a phone call you made earlier."

"What girl?" Claude nearly spat.

"The girl you mentioned to me not too long ago. The one who called you."

A foreign sound came from Claude's chest, a chuckle. "This was far before the girl."

"Then what is it?" His son implored gently, "What's troubling you?"

_Everything_, he wanted to cry. _Help me, I'm drowning in it!_

Claude pursed his lips, working the muscle along his jaw. "Nothing I can't handle, child."

"You're lying." Quasimodo rebuked, "I can see it in your eyes."

Claude gave him a steady glare under the dim light. There was always an admirable passion about the boy that'd grown into a man before him. During Quasimodos' infancy, the crying and the doctor visits seemed endless and he wondered if parenthood was for him at all. Eventually, as he grew, so did Claude. Sure, he wasn't the father, brutish and rugged, as most. The type who could throw a football or swing a bat, he wasn't. But as the years passed, he realized that wasn't the father Quasimodo needed. Claude did his best, or so he thought. The lad was in good shape now, physically and mentally with the studying abroad and cultivation. Always putting forth his entire existence in something that meant anything to him at all. Claude wished he could have had a fraction of Quasimodo's fierce spirit. Perhaps it could have prevented most of his most recent mistakes. His mind had been nothing but a troubled cloud.

With a deep sigh, Claude gave up. "There is something."

Quasimodo stilled. His eyes trained onto Claude unwaveringly while he waited.

"I fear someone dear to me," he breathed as the ache took hold of his poor heart, "has been hurt, at the very least, taken. They're missing."

Quasi's brow furrowed in thought. "So it is the girl?"

Claude scoffed, "What does it matter to you, boy? Will you help me or not?"

Quasimodo took Claude by the shoulder, squeezing him firmly after a thought.

"Of course."


	29. The Morbid and the Maiden

Esmeralda had always been a fast learner, but here and now, the only thoughts to flood her mind were ones of escape and longing. Something she had learned was unobtainable just recently. Freedom was so close, just passed a threshold, through the trees and onward. Who knew how far the property went out as she stared into the morning light. The cold morning light filled the skeleton thicket, catching sparkling patches of snow among damp bracken and fallen limbs.

She was huddled on the couch with all her limbs drawn close and tight. Her knees were to her chest and her arms were wrapped tightly around herself. That same dingy chemise held loosely about her frame, poor at staving off the cold draft of Phoebus' cabin.

Beside her, was he; the one responsible for this nightmare she currently lived. Every passing moment, the anger within her grew. She feared any moment she would lash out. That this fear she couldn't shake would driving her into madness. It came in waves. Sometimes as an ugly whisper at the back of her mind, a voice that blamed her for what was happening. Other times, a more forgiving approach. One of hope and patience. When the right time arrived, she would know it and it would be hers.

Secular as she had been most of her life, Esmeralda found herself quite often within prayer. To whomever, wherever, with powers beyond her understanding, she prayed. Even now, she closed her eyes to the cold window and pictured herself back at the Basilica of the Sacred Heart with all its marvel and its ascending spires and angels. She prayed until the tears fell and her heart wrenched. She prayed until she felt sick and ignored. How could a loving God allow something this horrible to happen to her? What had she ever done to another? She was a good person! What did she do to deserve this?

The anger returned, twisting her empty gut with anxiety and fear. She hadn't been able to keep anything down as of late, though, she tried. She felt like a starved animal, backed into a corner with little hope of surviving. The things she loved floated perpetually in her mind in hopes of deterring this anger that was not much her own character. Dancing. Sweets. Holidays. She sang her favorite song, silently and in the safety of her mind, albeit. She thought of her brother. In actuality, they weren't at all related by blood, but they had grown up together in an orphanage. They still kept in contact, but as the years progressed, Clopin was his name, had wed and started a family. Esmeralda was only a reminder of the ugly past he derived from. She didn't blame him now. If she could forget those years, as well as this one, she would.

A flash of red caught Esmeralda's attention as a cardinal flitted onto a thin branch. Its little body shook, puffing out its feathery chest and adjusting its wings. Around it, other birds darted through the branches. All were waking from with the morning light.

Phoebus did not sleep, which in turn, meant Esmeralda did not either. Though her body ached for rest, she could not.

Even if she could, only nightmares would await her.

Her green eyes continued to watch the small red bird as its mannerism appeared sporadic and random, at best. Not a care in the world, she thought, despite how brightly nature had colored it. Here it was amidst winter no less where no floral or fern could conceal it. Not long, another bird appeared at its side. One duller and less brazen in color. While the remaining winter birds flew to and fro, the two remained in place and within close proximity of one another. Mates, she told herself, remembering of a time she thought she had found one as well.

Glancing over, she eyed Phoebus who was drawn to the flashes of the television. He was watching the news, ensuring that her disappearance hadn't made headlines, or so she assumed. Another snowstorm was on approach, drifting down from Canada. They were predicting a blackout and several feet of snow. Regardless of the weather, she would be stuck here. Snow or shine, she would be here.

In this cabin.

With this _thing_, this _man._

She couldn't _stand it._ The sight of him alone made her stomach wrench and her skin crawl. Knowing he was always just feet away at all times was suffocating. She needed out. The walls were closing in. The ceiling, sinking. She couldn't stay here any longer.

She would rather die.

* * *

Morning came for Claude Frollo and his adopted son, Quasimodo. He had told the boy everything. From the most insignificant to the more startling of details. Their throes of passion and lust. The drunken night in which it all began. His taking of her within his very class room. There wasn't a moment Claude did not reveal to his son, not a heartbeat unmentioned.

With Lina gone and her whereabouts currently unknown, Claude found it the opportune time to bring his son up to speed. It was relieving, in the least, to finally admit to another soul the things that tormented him from inside. The secrets he had harbored with Esmeralda were burdening. Now that she was missing, he feared that he had imagined the entirety of it. Telling another made it feel all the more real.

Over a cup of untouched coffee, Quasimodo mulled over his response. The kitchen was an eerie silence between the two men. A meaty paw reached up and ran a course path over his red stubble. In the right light, Quasimodo could be a handsome fellow. Unfortunately, not many souls could see the charm and intelligence within him like Claude did. He feared the boy would be unwed until death came for its dues.

Sitting back in his own wooden chair, Claude ran a pale thumb down the side of his warm mug.

"I believe I owe you an apology," he fretted. "For what it's worth, this all transpired after your mother and I found our differences."

"I understand." His son muttered, refusing to look anywhere but down at his steaming cup. He was hurt, decidedly. Claude did not blame him for that. Another pause filled the kitchen, heavy with guilt and remorse.

"Do you love her?" The question from Quasimodo startled Claude. In truth, he didn't know how to answer it. "Be honest, not just with me, but with yourself, father."

Claude considered this. He had no intentions to lie on the matter for he had already told Quasimodo everything in its absolute. He cleared his throat and knitted his brow in thought. Yes, he loved her, but in a sense, it frightened him to admit that to anyone including himself.

"In a way, I do," he began, fearful of the emotions that came with such an inquiry. "I love who I am when I am with her. I'm young again."

"It's more than that," Quasimodo whispered, holding Claude's gaze with his own. "You know it is. Tell me."

Claude's mouth fell dry as the words tried to take form. "I-..," he took a deep, quivering breath. "Yes, I guess I do love her."

* * *

The day was cold as it was long for Esmeralda. She hardly spoke a word. Phoebus, on the other hand, would not shut up if only for a moment. He prattled on about Fallujah, Qatar, and the Bagram airfield where spiders of some variety chased his shadow. The stories meant nothing to her. They weren't wondrous. They did not ignite her curiosity or feed her imagination. It was noise to her. Useless noise.

Still residing within the living room, Esmeralda sat quietly on the floor before the fire. She stared into the flames as if enraptured by the lapping blaze. From behind her, Phoebus gave way to laughter, having muttered something delightful to himself. He hushed quickly after that and muttered something too soft for Esmeralda to understand. He spoke to himself often and to empty spaces of the room. At night, he shouted and threw things, startling Esmeralda awake from below. He still forced her to sleep in the basement with his grotesque paintings watching none too far. The tragedy in that was she preferred those decaying eyes and soulless visages to his own company. Like she, they were a result of his madness. Perhaps, they were one and the same. The morbid and the maiden.

As the hours ticked on, a thought stirred her, slowly evolving into a sinister plan. Decidedly there wasn't a moment Esmeralda wasn't planning _something _to a degree.

The fire before her had the tools for prodding and airing the fire. All were made of iron, sans the broom. She eyed the shovel and the poker while Phoebus began singing boisterously behind her. He was drunk and attempting to cook. She could hear the gurgling as he decanted glass after glass, accompanied with the sizzles of sauteeing vegetables. Outside, the sun had sank below the treetops and the cardinals had long disappeared her sight. Perhaps she could wait until he was far too polluted to act on her plan?

No, she realized. There were plenty of times he had inebriated himself and still kept a watchful eye upon her. That and he was strong, much stronger than she. It would have to be the element of surprise.

Glancing over her shoulder, she watched him toss a second swig back before slapping the glass back onto the counter. With his back towards her, this was the moment. She faced the fire and took hold of the poker as quietly as she could.

* * *

The television was too loud to hear her approaching. She was in the kitchen now, having no recollection of moving from the fire with the poker in hand. She was in a trance with Phoebus now before her. Holding the weapon tightly in her hand, she reared the weapon back like she would a baseball bat and swung.

Hard.

She felt the blow like vibrations through the iron handle as it made contact with the base of his skull. A strangled cry escaped his lips while his arms flew up to respond to the pain. He slumped against the counter top as blood seeped out of a split along his scalp. Esmeralda stepped away while Phoebus struggled to stay on his feet. On wobbling knees, his hands tried to hold onto something but instead knocked bottles and glasses off the counter. They fell with him, shattering along the floor. A moan fumbled over his lips as he fought to stay conscious.

Every part of Esmeralda's being screamed for her to run. But she remained. She didn't want to knock him unconscious. She wanted him dead. She wanted the surety that he wouldn't come for her again and again or worse, take someone else in her stead.

Glancing around the kitchen, she searched for a knife. Something large and sharp to plunge deep into his heart. Her movements were frantic as she scoured the drawers and cupboards but as soon as her eyes caught the glinting refraction of a sharp blade, there was movement behind her.

The blow came swiftly across her skull. A flash of white light blinded her before she regained her vision but it was coupled with befuddlement. What had just happened? She felt herself drifting, falling into...

She landed on cold stone, damp and reeking, not the expectant tile that fashioned Phoebus' kitchen floor. This was different.

Everything was very different.

Around Esmeralda was a thunderous cacophony. Trumpets were blaring. Voices were crying in joy and madness. Confetti rained around her as she glanced up from her sprawl. A stranger dressed in brightly colored trousers and a unsightly mask with a wide smile reached down and took her by the hands. He lifted her to her feet and pulled her into a dance.

"Where am I!?" She shrieked as he spun her in a circle. The voices bellowed in a simultaneous cheer. Her eyes scoured the unfamiliar faces that surrounded her, all cheering and dancing alongside. "What is this!?"

Whether he was listening or even heard her, there was no indication. He released his grip and disappeared into the sea of bodies where more brightly colored costumes and masks reigned. The crowd churned and roared. Barrels were rolled out and from spouts poured a dark liquid from which they drank greedily.

Esmeralda was on the brink of tears. She stilled among the thriving drone, digging her nails deep into her flesh, but the sting did not wake her. What had happened to her? Was this a dream? Was she dead? Hissing, she released her arm and glassed down to the crescent indentations along her skin. It was here that she noticed her attire had changed dramatically. The chemise was gone and in its stead a was bright red bodice with a sweeping skirt to match. Her feet were bare and around her hips hung a royal purple silken sash with sewn in charms and trinkets that chimed with every move. The panic was rising now while her heart hammered against her rib cage. Lifting her gaze once again, she scanned the area around her. Tall buildings lined all sides of her with a great massive one straight ahead. By the heavenward archways and stretching architect that almost reached for the sky, Esmeralda knew she was looking upon Notre Dame de Paris.

"Come one!" A voice rang out, "Come all!"

Someone clutched Esmeralda by the elbow urgently and cried, "You're up! Hurry! Hurry!"

When she glanced down, an old woman hunched in posture gripped her tightly with small bony hands. A cloak was drawn over her crown, shadowing what was evidently a hideous face. Startled, Esmeralda yanked free and stepped away.

"I don't know know what you're talking about!" She told the old hag.

A gnarled finger jutted forward, pointing passed Esmeralda, through the crowd and towards a wooden stage not far.

"See the finest girl in France!" The crowd sang and Esmeralda was pushed forward, passed the crowd and towards that very stage.

"No!" She yelped, trying to twist free from the gripping hands "Stop!" But she was already at the edge, being hurdled onto the platform by the sea of patrons. She landed on her feet, but buckled at the knees. The crowd exploded with cheers and howls while the band erupted into a song. Standing slowly, she turned her head towards the sea of faces. All eyes were trained on her and her alone.

* * *

They clapped and jutted fists into the air. More confetti rained and the instruments blew and bellowed while she, dumbstruck, stared in awe at all that surrounded her. She must be dead. There was simply no other way to put it. Either this was her personal hell or she was stuck in limbo, she wasn't sure. It all felt _very _real. Even the stinging still lingered from her nails.

But it was when she turned, to regard the tent before when her heart stopped.

Beneath a scowl shrouded in shadow was her beloved.

"Claude?" She whispered in shock, though more to herself than anything.

It appeared that he had heard her and his face furrowed with sheer confusion. Did he recognize her? Why did he appear aloof at her appearance?

He turned his head to the side and muttered something to a bystander. Her eyes followed his, landing on another familiar face; _Phoebus_.

Her heart plummeted with an audible gasp. Audible, certainly, for the chaos that had once reined the square had fallen to an eerie and unnatural dissonance between the instruments and patrons.

It _was_ her personal hell. She hadn't escaped him at all. He had followed her here! Whatever this place was, he was here!

Turning at once, she fled the stage, hopping down into the crowd who had fallen quiet, even the band had stilled. Shoving through the bodies, Esmeralda made her way to the only sensible place for such a state; Notre Dame.

* * *

**[A/N]: Good evening and good morning, depending upon wherever you may reside! I hope this all made some sort of sense to you. If not, I assure you, it'll make more sense when Claude comes around. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and much love!**


	30. You Vile Thing

Esmeralda pushed the heavy cathedral doors open just wide enough to slip through. She slammed it shut and pressed her back against the cool, grainy surface. The innards of the church offered a more quiet solace. For now, her heart was racing and it felt as if her face was going numb. Was she having a panic attack?

Now inside the cathedral, she found it surprisingly empty and even devoid of pews. The only sound was the soft, dwindling echo of her abrupt arrival and her breathy emissions.

The floor was a checkered pattern of black and white while pillars lined the sides in support of the great structure. At the foot of each column were lit candelabras lighting the way to an altar far on the other side. Despite this, the vast room was quite dim setted. Esmeralda dropped her head back against the wooden door and pressed a hand over her frantic heart. She was calming down, finally, but her questions still needed to be met with answers.

The heavy throb of her heart felt real. As did the fabric of her crimson bodice beneath her fingertips. The charms that hung from her purple sash still rang, soft and true. More importantly, the hurt at seeing Claude next to Phoebus still remained. His eyes were distant, perhaps indifferent to her distress. Abhorred, even. The sight of him leaning from his throne to whisper something disdaining to none other that Phoebus twisted her from inside. She felt betrayed, even. But reminded herself that this was all surreal.

Though the fear had somewhat passed, a new affliction was to follow its wake; helplessness. Whatever this place was to her, whatever it meant, it wasn't in good nature. This had to be a hell of the sort. Something to punish her for all this misdeeds she incited during her living days. She had no idea this was the end for her.

"Ah, what could be troubling such a pretty face during times of celebration?"

The voice came from afar, bouncing off the stone walls like a rickety wheel in need of oil.

Esmeralda glanced up, searching for the provenance but whoever it was, chose not to reveal themselves just yet. She considered entertaining the question, but how? Would a more insensitive approach be of use in this setting? Something along the lines of '_I just discovered I'm dead?'_

Remaining mute while her eyes sought the source, a figure finally emerged from between a set of pillars. The candlelight from Esmeralda's right caught the subtle motion.

"Oh, it's just you." Esmeralda muttered, pushing off the door as the old woman from the crowd regarded her. The old hag shuffled out further, standing only a few paces away from Esmeralda. Her back was grotesquely curved, pushing her shoulders and head forward and down. Thin, wisps of hair, perhaps blonde at one time, hung out from beneath her tattered hood. If Esmeralda had ever seen a witch in her life, this is what she imagined they would appear as, sans the large nose and any warts she could see.

"Oh, darling!" The old crone cackled, waving a nonchalant hand. "I didn't put you up there. The people did!"

"But you enticed them," Esmeralda's voice shook with anger. "You made me go up there and…," _become humiliated._ Her conviction waned, filling her heart with pain and her eyes with tears. As if this harpy had any idea who Claude was to her, or Phoebus, even.

"So what troubles you?" The crone repeated, more sincerely this time.

Esmeralda met her coal black eyes and cringed, "It wouldn't make sense to you. It doesn't even make sense to me."

The witch clicked her tongue and shook her head. "My child, I know more about this than you do. Now tell me."

Esmeralda took a deep breath, trying to work her thoughts around the tears and scarring image of Claude so repulsed by her. "I don't know where I am."

"You're in Notre Dame," the crone interjected.

"Yes," Esmeralda shot back. "I get that! But I'm not supposed to be here! I…," she huffed, allowing the tears to swell and fall liberally down her cheeks. "I think I'm dead."

"Oh, no, no, no!" The hag assured, "Not dead! Asleep!"

Shooting an incredulous look towards the witch, Esmeralda inquired. "How do you know?"

This elicited another raspy chuckle on the hag's part. "Consider it a lucky guess, dear."

"So you'll help me?" Esmeralda chirped, suddenly feeling that it wasn't the end of her days.

"Help you with what?"

"Help me wake up, of course."

She watched the woman's dark eyes narrow with scrutiny. Her thin lips pursed, wrinkled from age. "I cannot help you, child."

"Why not!"

"Because!" The hag begun to turn away, ambling back towards the pillars from whence she derived. "I'm merely a guide, a vigil to usher you along. Be careful of the Judge, my dear Esmeralda. He is not the same person as you remember."

* * *

She was alone again and insatiable. The old woman had retreated back to whatever damp cave she had crawled from, leaving Esmeralda struck with a profound bemusement.

What was she to do now? Moreover, who was this Judge the woman mentioned and what had they to do with her?

Outside, the muffled chorus of music and cheer had long ago ensued despite her recent transgression. She feared returning outside was becoming her only option. Glancing at the great wooden doors, she cringed. She wanted to remain within the cathedral, where it was empty, quiet and so far, safe.

She turned away just as the one of the heavy doors burst open, pouring in was the chaos and madness from outside and then the door shut just as quickly. Esmeralda spun around in time to see a figure limp away into the shadows. Soft weeping followed that uneven gait as it drifted from her. Another damaged soul, it seemed.

Curiosity lured her forth.

She ducked between the pillars, hiding from the candle light as the figure disappeared into a door way several pillars down. As soon as it shut, she moved on soft footfalls until she was pressing an ear to the thick wood at which they had disappeared behind. The sound of steps were above her. Yanking the door open, she peeked into the shadows, opening the door wider and allowing the soft glow to flood in. The light revealed stairs, winding stairs in fact. She followed the stranger upward. Perhaps they could be more forthcoming than that crone from earlier, she hoped as least.

The stairs continued, spiraling up and up and up until Esmeralda was breathless and cool from sweat. Soon enough, the footstep she followed had disappeared and so did much of the stone that proved as walls when rafters and airy landings greeted her at the top of the stairs.

Her eyes scoured the open space filled with various iron bells of all size and tenure. A ladder ahead led her onto a second platform above, bringing her closer to the carillon and opening up into the bare elements. Even from this height, she could still hear the music and revelry down below.

She had now reached the towering spires of the cathedral, hearth to the bells that toll and much more; a person, though, he hadn't noticed her yet. He was leaning over a table with several small wooden props, working feverish at something. Pausing near the top of the ladder and with safe distance, she called out to him.

"Hello."

He spun around, revealing an unsightly face and a disfigurement she hadn't noticed until now.

* * *

"What did you find?" Claude asked from the window of his office. His son sat at his desk, peering into the computer screen as he scrolled through photographs.

"Quite enough," muttered Quasimodo, pausing to observe a lake surrounded by trees well into autumn with vivid colors of burning oranges and reds. He was scouring social media, something Claude refused to understand. Every time he sat before the blasted computer and attempted to make one of his own, he became frustrated and rather humiliated. His son, on the other hand, understood it far better than he.

They started their search with Nadia. Her pictures, which were filled with candid shots of his lovely Esmeralda, lead them to a young lad named Remy, who, in turn, brought them to Phoebus. When his page provided little fruit to their efforts, they branched out into friends, then friends of friends, until ultimately…

"Got it." Quasimodo clicked on something unseen to Claude and a map came to view.

Their destination was just off Saranac lake in New York, not far from the Adirondack Mountain range.

"Heaven on earth," Claude murmured, staring into the computer screen. The route Quasimodo had selected would take them nearly twelve hours to complete, and not only that, but a portion of the trip reached up and touched Canada. This wasn't a problem. They both had their passports in any case. Claude straightened to his tall stature and crossed his arms.

"Very well," his deep voice filled the room. "We must be going if we are to beat the blizzard."

* * *

"H-how did you get up here?" The startled young man stammered as he pressed back against his working table.

Esmeralda did her best to appear cordial and more importantly, harmless. "I followed you up here. I didn't mean to scare you."

_I'm rather scared myself._ The unspoken words hung heavy like the iron bells that surrounded them.

He considered this, perhaps weighing his options should he need to protect himself. Despite the disfigured shoulders and the protrusion that steepled his back, his countenance was kind and forgiving. It warmed Esmeralda in a way she couldn't quite fathom when he offered a rather sheepish smile.

In such a state of constant confusion accented in fear, a kind face was all Esmeralda needed to feel better. She felt her own expression lift into a smile as she dared to wane closer.

"My name is Esmeralda," she began. "And I'm in much need of a friend."

The way the man observed her was evident; he was enamored.

"My name is Quasimodo," he replied, "I could be your friend?"

The light from the early evening caught the coppery tones of his hair like a flame. With the smile still plastered on his face, Esmeralda looked passed him onto the balcony beyond. "May I?" She gestured towards it.

"Oh, of course!" He turned and righted all the small trinkets he had knocked over before dusting off his hands and intersecting her path. He held a massive hand outward for her, which she took gratefully. He led her to the stone balcony where gargoyles with gaping maws and bared teeth sat at the corners. A gentle breeze picked up when she placed her hands along the banister. A river winded a path just off the square beneath them. From such great height, the life that churned and rejoiced with drunken cheer below seemed small and insignificant.

"You're the dancer!" Quasimodo said suddenly. "I-I'm sorry, it's just, I have seen you before."

Esmeralda looked down at him with confusion. "_The_ dancer?"

"Yes, I usually spot you over there." He extended a thick arm and pointed towards a shadowy corner far across the square and away from the cathedral.

Her brows knitted while she looked beyond and she asked, "Are you sure that was me?"

"Oh, I'm very sure!" He beamed, placing his hands onto the banister. "M-my master watches you, as well. You're very pretty, even though, he won't admit it."

She shook her head, "I think you have me mistaken for someone else. I've never-,"

Across the room and a floor below, a door slammed.

"Oh, no." Quasimodo breathed, grabbing her firmly by her forearm.

"Oh, no?"

"You must go!" He whispered, taking off across the room as a newcomer began to ascend the ladder and quickly, too.

"Where am I to go!" She hissed back, trying to whisper as best as she could while stumbling over coiled ropes and chipped iron. She was shoved behind a wooden separation between his loft and the bells where she hunkered down obediently.

"Wait here." He shushed, releasing her arm and darting back towards the balcony.

A voice called out, "Quasimodo?"

A deep resonating voice. A voice Esmeralda knew well and loved. Chills found reign over her shoulders as she gripped the edge of the separation and dared a peek.

She caught the gasp that escaped her lips the moment she saw him.

Claude, clad in dark robes and a white collar that covered most of his neck. He held a hat in one hand and an expression of disappointment.

"Yes, M-master." Quasimodo came before Claude, almost cowering in submission. It wrenched her heart to see how pitiful he made himself before someone as kind as Claude.

"Am I mistaken or was it you that I saw at the festival?" Claude moved passed the young boy and approached his working table, waiting for a response.

"Y-you are not mistaken, Master." Quasimodo admitted. Shame colored his freckled cheeks.

"I thought so," his eyes roamed the table, picking up tiny figurines and examining them. "And what were my instructions?"

"Not to attend."

"Precisely, my boy." Gripping the edge of working table, he flipped it, freeing all its adornments and carvings to the stone floor. The sudden cacophony startled pigeons sleeping amidst the rafters, as well as, Esmeralda. She stepped back for fear she may be discovered when the coo's and chirrs filled the space above her.

"Try me again, boy," he continued, "And I won't be so forgiving next time you deliberately disobey me. You will not eat tonight."

The heavy emission of footfalls came and went, subsequently concluded by the sound of a slamming door.

Esmeralda finally breathed and quickly emerged from hiding.

She came to Quasimodo's side, helping him gather his figurines and craftings from the floor. And a God forsaken thought struck her as she worked quickly to right his toppled things. It seemed Claude was a fleeting thing and she wasn't sure when the next time she saw him would be. Moreover, did he honestly plan on refusing Quasimodo food for the day? She thought it kind of petty and over the top for a mere visit to the festival.

Hey eyes wandered towards the ladder not far while she helped. Every passing second that came and went twisted Esmeralda's gut with indecision and anxiety. When would she see him again? What if he could could help her?

Not sparing another moment, she got up and raced for the ladder.

"Wait, don't!" Quasimodo cried as she clambered down the ladder, leaping mid-descent from the rungs. Her feet landed solid along the wooden flooring before she made haste for the door. The stone was cold upon her feet as she descended the spiraling stairs. The blackness of the stairwell was too thick and hard to traverse. She winded down and down until a slice of light alerted her to the foot of the stairs. A door shut ahead, snuffing out the glow and leaving her again in inhibiting darkness. She palmed the walls, feeling her way out until her knuckles rapped against a door knob. Grasping it firmly, she ran out into the worship room and spotted him nearly the exit.

"Claude!"

Her voice carried across the stone. It resonated through the stained windows of blue and gold. It startled the stilled angels and fearfully excited her rapid heart.

Amidst the center of the room, Claude Frollo froze. His head turned and then his shoulders until addressing her fully.

"What did you call me?" Still so graven and rich with baritone, his voice. It was home to her in such a foreign state that she wanted to cry in relief.

She was wide-eyed and panting. It felt like seeing him for the first time. He looked different, crueler and more detached. Even from her where she stood, there were noticeable bruising beneath his eyes from restless nights. Rooting in place between a set of pillars, she fumbled for the words.

_Be careful of the Judge, my dear Esmeralda. He is not the same person as you remember..._

To hell with that old crone!

"It's me," she breathed. "Esmeralda."

"Esmeralda," his voice rumbled, crossing his arms. "The gypsy girl. I know very well who you are."

Taking a careful step, Esmeralda braved to get closer. His eyes dropped to the waning proximity and uncrossed his arms, looking abhorred that she dared near him, or perhaps startled. But he did not move once. Not when the distance was eaten away, or when feet became inches. He did not move when her arms rose to take him gently by the face. Nor did he turn when she pressed her lips to his.

He sank into her. She felt him clutch her hip firmly with one hand while the other knotted possessively in her thick hair. She pulled him into the kiss, brushing his lips with her warm tongue until he yielded to her request. He was more inept than she recalled as their tongues delicately lapped but all the still warm and stirring. Her fingers ran through his hair while her heart jumped excitedly. He pulled her closer, becoming lost against her.

Then bells began to toll and the mood darkened. She felt him stiffen against her and suddenly, she was pushed away and the kiss severed.

Flushed and quite riled, Claude clamped a hand over his mouth in shock of his own behavior. His dark brows furrowed with coherence, a realization.

"Get away from me, you vile thing." He spat, now glaring at her while he stepped away. Rage enveloped his countenance like a malicious shadow and for a moment, Esmeralda feared he wanted to hurt her.

"I can see your intent." His words shook with anger. "You think your'e so powerful in your enchantments that you could bewitch, _me_, on these very sanctified grounds? You think I won't lock you up and throw you to the dungeons, witch!"

His voice rose to a harsh volume that ricocheted around her. She was at a loss of words. For a moment, he was there and just a quickly, he was gone. Someone else stood before her, but not Claude Frollo.

Claude's breath came arduously, lifting and lowering his shoulders as he turned away. A pale, slender hand rose to brush loosen tendrils of white hair from his face. He turned away from her and migrated towards the entrance. As the door was yanked open, he paused with his head turned to the side.

"Step one foot out here, gypsy." He seethed over his shoulder. "And I will replace that pretty dress with shackles."

* * *

**I hope this elicited some excitement, maybe even despair? I know I was all over the place with this. And please, if you're confused, it'll all make sense very soon. RorschachinBlueJeans, , villains-doitbetter (A very good Frollo author right here!) , and Amelia-Isabella Bergmann(I hope you've settled in well!) , thank you very much for the reviews!**


	31. Find the Gypsy Girl

Claude and Quasimodo drove through cities and countrysides. The drive was tiresome for both men, but they had arrived; the Adirondack mountains were behind them and the Saranac lake before. Claude quietly drove while his son navigated through the back roads after they split off from the interstate. If the nature of their visit wasn't one of somber, he would have marveled at the beauty amidst the rolling hills, thick with spindly trees. For now, he kept the observations to himself while they rode on.

Overhead the clouds hung low and a incessant wind batted them for the drive's duration. The storm was close and at few times flecks of snow drifted down from above. But the brunt of it hadn't arrived, thankfully. He hoped they could find their answers before the storm hit. Claude wasn't keen on how exactly this event was going to pan out. He tried not to imagine the worse. In fact, he hoped this was all a wild misunderstanding. He'd rather she be safe with another man than hurt by any degree, even though these thoughts only ailed him further.

As they drove on, they passed a small town. In a blink, it was behind them, disappearing as the wall of tree encompassed them all around. The drive continued and faintly, Claude felt a pang of discomfort.

"Slow down," Quasi muttered, glancing back and forth from his phone to the road. "It's somewhere here on the right."

They both searched for markings to indicate a road, but it wasn't until at the last second that they noted a break in the trees. A dirt road revealed itself. They turned into it and the bumps were deep and jostling along the road as it winded through the wintry thicket. The longer they continued, the more Claude began to feel uneasy.

He slowed down just before a bend, bringing the car to a complete stop.

His son looked over to him in silent question as he stared ahead.

A quietness befell them both. Claude was struggling with nausea. _Something_ wasn't right.

Around them, the incessant wind gusted, swaying the car gently. Then the flakes began to fall in thick chunks until a wall of white surrounded them.

Quasimodo looked ahead as Claude placed the car in drive. They followed the bend, breaching a clearing where a small cottage awaited them.

* * *

Esmeralda braved the cool twilight, having waited until then before venturing back into the square. The crowd had drastically thinned. Only a few patrons remained, either begging at door steps, or ambling a drunken path back to their homestead.

The cold air welcomed her comfortably as she strode across the cobblestone. Around her, windows illuminated from within. She caught glimpses of families moving about their hearth where it was safe; where they belonged. Looking away before the sight alone could affect her, she continued throughout the streets, taking turns where feeling guided her. She couldn't stay at the cathedral, though she was certain Quasimodo would have had no issue allowing her a place to lie her head. It was best she left, in case Claude decided to come back. It was wearisome not to think of him and their recent convergence. There was longing in his kiss, however different it felt. But then there was something else, perhaps, distaste and abhorrence to follow. Something she found truly unlikely of him.

Not long, Esmeralda found herself far from the center of the city, away from the towering buildings and cobblestone. The streets turned to earth beneath her and the sky opened up with a spray of stars across a violet expanse.

Her feet and skirt were coated in mud from the travel. Migrating off the road, she found an open field just beyond a fence. She hopped in and drifted across the plain. The grass felt soft and more welcoming than the harsh cobblestone and uneven dirt road that had led her here. Plopping down, Esmeralda lied back. She wasn't tired. Of course not. She was already asleep, stuck in a dream-like state where hunger nor fatigue ailed her. But where physically needs lacked, emotionally she was a wreck. She kept thinking of Claude and his sudden lash out; the church and its steep structure that told Esmeralda this wasn't the first time seeing her, Notre Dame.

Splaying her fingers, she palmed the grass while she reflected. Everything felt so real. How could this be a dream?

"At what conclusion have you arrived at, child?" The proverbial voice whispered from the dark.

Surprised, Esmeralda sat up and found the disfigured form of the old woman from the church and festival. She drew her legs inward, in case she needed to make a run for it.

It took a moment for Esmeralda to realize she was within question. Considering her answer, or lack thereof, she muttered bitterly, "The same as before; I'm asleep." Irritation followed the wake of her answer as she glared under the night sky. "Don't you have other things to do besides follow me around?"

"Ahh, I see you've met the Judge," smirked the hag. She sighed then and said, "It happens sooner and sooner, every time."

Narrowing her eyes, Esmeralda decided to look away, fearing her expression told more than her words might.

The hag laughed in response to that, clapping her hands together in a giddy fit. "Ah, yes! He is not as you remember!"

Esmeralda set her jaw, stilling averting her gaze. The witch was right and perhaps that is what bothered her the most.

"What does it matter?" Esmeralda spat, "I'm asleep and this," she gestured wildly to her surroundings, "Is not real! I'm sure if I tried, I could change the scenery! I could think up a beautiful lagoon or the peak of the tallest mountain."

"Then do it," challenged the hag. "Go ahead. Take yourself there."

Turning her glare onto the woman, Esmeralda jet her jaw. She had already tried to leave this place by pinching and scratching at her arms, yanking her hair and biting into her lip and inner cheek. She wasn't going anywhere and this only infuriated her more.

"You need to find someone else to heckle." Esmeralda snapped, quickly getting to her feet. She marched through the grass, heading back towards the fence.

"My dear, this is not a dream." The hag muttered despondently, "It is a memory."

* * *

Esmeralda feared this.

Before the woman had uttered those words, she knew this wasn't by chance. She had never been to France, so why have such a comprehension of a place she had never seen? The times she had been in the basilica on campus wasn't because she feared for her mortal soul, but because it felt it called to her like a lover from another lifetime. She had taken refuge in a place much similar, she realized; the very place she took refuge today.

Having come to a stop, Esmeralda faced away from the witch. Her hands were positioned along the wooden fence, preparing to hurdle herself over it and leave the woman to her own bidding. But she couldn't move, fearing that if she turned away now, the answers would be lost.

In truth, Esmeralda didn't want to believe it, but what were her other options? Remain here in this realm? Would she ever wake?

"You will." The woman whispered from the other side of the fence, startling Esmeralda a second time.

She stared into the old woman timeworn visage, illuminated by a crescent moon. She didn't believe her, but in all things holy, she wanted to. She knew this was a dream, despite how vivid it felt. _It had to be_. Dreams were odd. Nightmares still elicited fear even after waking. The mind knew no different.

Hoisting herself up, she threw her legs over the fence and perched atop. Around the wooden beam beneath her, Esmeralda tightened her hold. She was getting weary with the fact that the woman was harboring secrets and refused to indulge. Who knew how long Esmeralda would remain asleep and so long as she did, she didn't want to spend it being followed by an annoyance.

Twisting along her posterior, she eyed the hag. "If this is a memory, how is it I don't remember?"

"I can help," she replied, proffering a bony hand.

She eyeballed it with distrust before bringing her own hand up. Amidst the shadows, the woman smiled a toothy grinned that frightened Esmeralda more than comforted. As soon as their fingertips brushed, the woman latched onto Esmeralda, yanking her off the fence and throwing her to the ground. Yelping in surprise and hitting the earth in a sprawl, Esmeralda scrabbled to get to her feet but the woman was already upon her, flipping her onto her back and plopping down.

A wretched smell followed and a hand grasped the front of Esmeralda's entire face while the other hand planted rooted against her chest. For such a small woman, her strength was surprising and more importantly, frightening. She didn't find it necessary to scream or become too alarm. The woman wasn't hurting her but she still anchored a tight hold along both wrist.

"Stop this!" Esmeralda snarled, bringing her knees up and twisting her hips to throw the woman off.

The hag held fast and whispered harsly, "Not until you remember!"

Then came the visions.

They were horrible, unsightly things with death and decay. Endless shadows she had taken home to. A place of solace where more dead than living resided Esmeralda laid her head. A tomb underground. Gypsies. The bells of Notre Dame tolling. Clopin! Esmeralda heard herself gasp as the visions unfurled. The clipping emissions of horse trot filling the air around her. Empty gallows that called her name. The winding Seine river, colding and collecting throughout the years.

_Claude._

The Minister of Justice.

Under a seething scowl, he watched her with hate rolling off of him in torrents. She was back at the festival, dancing along the platform in a manner Esmeralda recalled very clearly not happening, but felt regardless of this, the story would play out nonetheless. A misshapen creature cried for help and she answered. The visions moved fast, shifting around it took only a moment to connect their relation. She was remembering. The metallic tang of fear sat heavy on her tongue when she challenged the Judge before hundreds. He had stood, shouting obscenities at her, jutting a bony finger and a throng of guards came forth. A dark night, devoid of stars and moonlight. A hunched woman with a large blade positioned over Esmeralda's palm. The warm blood that poured from her fist as she held it tightly over a fire. The flames licked and cracked, turning a noxious green before falling back to its natural hues.

A curse was set in motion, but something had gone wrong.

Over the fire, the witch waved her hands, muttering under her breath an incantation. But the words were not right, not to Esmeralda's ears and certainly, not her heart.

_"What have you done!" She had cried, doubling over into the cold earth when a slice of pain seared through her._

_The witch cackled, clutching her own midsection in a fit of glee._

_The pain doubled, tripled even, and Esmeralda feared she would vomit as the wind was knocked from her lungs._

_The world fell on its side, spinning the stairs, tracing her peripherals with the full moon above._

She had been bested, tricked, and led astray. She had come here to kill him, to save her people, and to rid this figure of oppression, hate, and prejudice.

_Instead..._

_Instead...She..._

Esmeralda blinked, opening her eyes to the colorful sky.

She found herself alone. The woman had gone. The night had passed and now the soft pre-dawn light was peeking over the horizon. Only a few struggling stars remained as she looked up from the earth. She sat up and glanced about, rubbing the area about her neck gingerly.

Turning her gaze towards the town, she carefully rose to her feet and headed back, knowing now what she must do.

* * *

Claude parked the car several yards away from the cabin. It felt right, as opposed to parking directly out front, he thought it best to be, at the very least, an element of surprise.

Marching across the yard and no longer shielded by the car, the strength of the wind assaulted him. The snow came in cascades, spiraling around him and his son as they approached the porch. The earth wasn't warm enough, unable to melt the snow faster than it fell, it quickly collected around them. They took the stairs quietly. The roaring from the wind helped to conceal their arrival, although, a chime hung from the beams along the porch had sent a chorus of dissonance along the breeze.

Drawing close, Quasimodo approached the door first.

Should we knock? He mouthed.

Claude shook his head. His son found the doorknob and checked it. The latch gave away, opening the door into the shadowed interior. What they were doing was foolish, decidedly. Any sane man would know full well the dangers of entering someone's private space. But the saying continued, better to ask for forgiveness, than permission.

He just hoped neither of them would get shot. They were breaking and entering, no doubt.

Stepping into the quiet space with light feet, Quasimodo shut the door. The brutish of the two, certainly. Claude was not one of strength and ardor. Should things go awry, he was glad the lad had accompanied him along this foolhardy adventure.

The living room didn't look out of place. A hearth, black from ash and dust on his left and a mantel with a mounted stag's head just above. The usual decor and appliances he would expect a cabin to possess appeared before him.

It was the kitchen that ran his blood cold.

The floor was marred with a sickening crimson. It had thickened and dried, darkened from exposure or perhaps heightened from the white tile it mottled; a small pool, no less.

The air seemed to seize in Claude's lungs and his mouth turned dry and wordless.

Unaware that he had moved, his arm had reached out and clutched the sleeve of his son in attempt to steady himself. He could smell it now, a heavy iron that hung in the air like the silence that befell them. Shards of glass glittered the tile. A toppled bottle of spilled bourbon and foot sprints that seemed arbitrary at best. Chairs had been overturned. The table in which they nestled to had been shoved towards the corner. A trickle of blood accompanied by booted foot prints took their eyes away from the unsightly image towards a closed door.

Claude's stomach plummeted as expectations turned dark and foreboding. He feared at what awaited him from the other side. He tried not to, but the worst went rampant with his thoughts and rooted him to the floor.

Sensing this, Quasimodo as brave as he was, moved first. He opened the door slowly, revealing a narrow hallway where the footprints and trail of blood continued. Forcing himself, he followed his son into the door frame and passed the threshold. The house was cold enough that the two could see their breath as they moved quietly, checking doors and bedrooms. Moreover, it also appeared empty, having been rather small, only one door remained.

At the end, still closed, was the last door.

Approaching it, Claude's anxiety ascended to a new crescendo, pushing his hammering heart high into his throat. He swallowed thickly, reaching for the knob, but Quasimodo gently pulled him back. His son opened the door, revealing the mouth of stairs and a thick darkness it descended to. He stepped onto the landing, leaving Claude in the hallway and paused. The wind began to howl outside.

Immediately something caught his attention.

His broad, canted shoulders obscured the way and it took little time to realize it was on purpose.

"What is it?" hissed Claude from behind. "What do you see?"

Quasi turned, his visage of sheer despondency. This alone shattered Claude.

"Move aside!" He growled, shoving passed his son and entering the mouth of the doorway.

His eyes roved the walls, the stairs that led him deeper into a basement and it was there, he saw her.

* * *

**It appears all my favorite Frollo writers are peeking up from their laptops. I am so so happy to see you guys (villains-doitbetter &amp; rattlesnakedefender) I'm always afraid Fresme fandom will thin out and die since this pairing is so...taboo? I think it's beautiful! Throwing two polar opposites together is probably my favorite thing about these two. Also, a thanks to the reviewers maka reff (you tickle me haha) and Amalie, I do hope everything is going smoothly during your transition. Too bad you picked ol' CT, and not Texas! **

**Alright, enough of the author's note. I hope ya'll enjoyed the chapter.**


	32. Here I am

Claude took the stairs by two and three, nearly stumbling down the remaining as he hurried to her side.

She was lying face down, her limbs and hair splayed in such a manner, it was evident she had been thrown down to the hard concrete.

Reaching carefully for her, his heart ached and thrummed like a small frantic animal. He wasn't sure where he could touch her or where it was safe from further damage. What if she had a spinal injury? Or her neck had been broken? There were too many bruises revealing themselves to Claude. He had no choice but to gather her up into his arms, albeit as gently as possible. Furthermore, remaining here for an ambulance during a storm was not an option.

The sound of Quasimodo's descending footsteps were not far behind him and soon, he felt his son's presence at his side.

"Don't!" Claude snarled, hovering over her still body when Quasi drew too close. "Do not touch her!"

His hands found her shoulders gingerly, gripping just enough so that he could turn her over and see her face. He was so frightened to do so it churned his stomach with sickening pain. Fear licked his spine and anger followed with a vengeful conviction. Whoever did this to her...his thoughts abandoned him, returning to the concern for his beloved.

Taking her gently, he pulled, allowing her frame to lull into his arms. She was limp, and cold, but not stiff. Stiff meant rigor mortis, rigos mortis meant death and Claude would not accept her death.

When his eyes dropped to her face...

A stifled choked came from Claude and Quasimodo gasped aloud.

The urgency of the matter had reached a new magnitude.

Her face was swollen, contorted beyond her usual stunning beauty. Dried, congealed blood darkened what should have been her mouth and both eyes were purple and fused shut, snuffing out her jaded pools.

"My God," Claude breathed while he moved to check for a pulse.

"Father, we need to get her to a hospital," Quasi spoke urgently.

Faint...

_But still alive!_

Claude didn't need a moment's consideration. He scooped her up as quickly and tentatively as he could and hurried her up the stairs.

Quasimodo led the way, widening the passage as he moved, pushing the doors wide and knocking aside anything that breached their path.

The temperature hardly varied stepping from the living room to the porch. Had they not reached her in time, the exposure, if not the trauma and blood loss, would have killed her.

The door to the backseat was already open for Claude and Esmeralda as he ducked in. He moved to the far side of the bench, pulling her close so that he could share his warmth. The door slammed shut and within seconds, Quasi was in the driver's seat.

"Give me your jacket," Claude demanded and it was promptly offered, still warm from Quasi's wear. He draped the fabric over her bare legs, her toes taking on a blue tinge. He feared adding friction to her limbs would hurt her. The damage inflicted was unknown to him so he settled by dipping his head close to her neck and breathing. He used the folds of his jacket to capture the warmth as the car revved to life.

The warmth of his own breath washed over his face. He prayed it was enough to serve Esmeralda. Meanwhile, Quasimodo peeled out of the front yard as the snow fell in sheets. The heated was on blast, filling the innards of the car with its soft hum.

Pulling Esmeralda closer, Claude gently pressed his cheek to hers. She was so cold against him as he closely cradled her. Her breath so faint. Her frame too bony to be the same soft figure he had caressed so many times. The warmth of her brown skin he had relished against once before was now sallow and sickly.

Gritting his teeth, Claude squeezed his eyes such as another wave of nauseating anger seized him. He wanted retribution, wholly. He wanted a life to end for even attempting to take hers. He would spill blood for her, steal the breath, and condemn the very soul who had done this.

* * *

The night sky had taken over the heavens far before Esmeralda reached the stairs of Notre Dame. Knowing the hour was terribly late, she took to the doors despite it. Once inside, she found the entrance to the spiraling staircase and not long after, climbed the rickety ladder to Quaismodo's lofty quarters. She moved quickly. How much time she had before her most dire hour was unknown and this alone frightened her.

The man, much to her surprise, was still awake and standing beside his worktable. White candles around him held tiny flickering flames, clutching their delicate life against a gentle breeze.

Bare footed, her steps were but whispers against the grainy wood as she approached him. Coming around to the side so she was far enough to be detected without frightening him of her presence, Esmeralda neared until she was certain he could see her.

It worked. He glanced up as a beam beneath her heel softly groaned.

"Esmeralda?" He asked with surprise.

Offering a repentant smile, she said. "I'm sorry I left you earlier."

The mood shifted.

"What are you doing here?" There was an intensity to the undertows of his voice that did not go undetected by Esmeralda. Her smile waned, dropping into bemusement. "You can't be here! You must hide!"

And he was moving suddenly, rushing around the table to take her hand and lure her away from the soft ambiance of candlelight.

"Hide?" Esmeralda echoed, quickly leaping over coiled ropes.

"Yes!" he exclaimed, "He is looking for you! Paris is ablaze!"

"Who!" Esmeralda ducked in time as a large bell loomed out from the darkness. "Who is looking for me?!"

"My master," Quasi replied, yanking open the door of a shadowy insert. A small room revealed itself. A closet perhaps or some form of storage for the bell tower and its ringer. "Hide here, stay quiet and don't come out until I come for you."

Obeying, Esmeralda stepped into the thick darkness, engulfing her entirely as the door shut.

Drowned in sudden silence, with the exception of her bewildered and frantic heart, Esmeralda sat back until her frame brushed the enclosure that surrounded her. She sank down to her posterior.

Paris was burning? She wondered. It didn't seem as if it were burning. Nothing struck out of the ordinary when she was enroute to see Quasimodo. But then again, she wasn't certainly looking, perhaps too absentminded at the time.

Drawing her knees up, she wrapped her arms around her legs to ward off the sudden chill.

_Claude was looking for her. Paris was burning. He was rending the city down to ash and ember to find her._

_Clockwork was in motion now_.

All the pieces..

_They were falling..._

Now that Esmeralda had been provided her lost memories, she didn't look upon Paris with the same wonderment as she did when seeing the city for the first time. Also, the memories conceded were not all fond and cordial in nature. Some were dark and filled with decay with untold deaths, frigid travels she made as a child and life without parents. Quiet honestly, the latter did not shock her. It wasn't until she arrived at Paris where life became, somewhat, more lenient. The late middle ages were not for the faint and light hearted. They were rancorous and harsh to anyone who allowed its treacherous nature to seep into their soul and steal their spirit. The streets perpetually smelled of foul food and discarded waste. And during these times, gypsies were treated like abhorred rodents. She was no different.

Many things were starting to make sense to the young girl as well. The dreams. The faint veil of recognition that clouded her thoughts with every passing glance. The occasional trance-like fixations that ensnared her into daydreams and musings. It was her past life, creeping out from the dark recesses of her mind, scratching as her consciousness, begging to be no longer forgotten. She had never thought, not even once, that reincarnation was a real derivative. They were fables to her and nothing of applicable nature.

But what did this mean to her now? Or maybe, her endless dream was now affecting her ability to differentiate fantasy from reality?

_No_, she frowned, _this is real._

As much as she detested the idea of living within a memory disguised as a dream, Esmeralda knew that's exactly what it was. She knew now what it would take to wake herself up: she had to find Claude. But not the one in the realm with her currently.

_The one out of reach._

But it was with this indomitable one she had to use as a bridge. A vessel to the other world, her world.

_Before he..._

An unseen door bursting open snapped her free of her introspect, bringing her back to the now: she must remain hidden.

Claude's booming voice filled the loft and the cavernous bellies of the carillon that surrounded her: "_Where are you_!"

Footsteps followed, pounding a path she could feel through scarred wood. Esmeralda hunkered lower, pulling her legs closer to her frame.

"M-master-." She listened to the hunchbacks timid reply.

"Where is she?" Claude snarled, "Where are you hiding her!"

Something was toppled over, a chair or a table crashed to the floor and the unsteady, faltering report of someone stumbling fell subsequent to its cacophonous wake.

Startled, she stood, grabbing the knob, ready to throw it open. Her poor heart had found another frantic rhythm to dance to as a haplessness consumed her. Standing by was against everything Esmeralda believed or wanted. The walls of her concealment were closing on her, squeezing her lungs and prickling her skin.

A sliver of light caught her shoulder. She sidestepped, pressing her face to the narrow crack of the wooden door to peer through.

"Where. Is. She." Claude's voice trembled with such fervor, it sounded foreign and malignant. He had Quasi by his collar with both hands, nearly lifting the boy from the floor. With every word he forced from his lips, he shook the bell ringer. "Tell me where she is! You're harboring her, I know it! You've always planned to betray me! Paris is burning because of _you!"_

"No, father! I-I swear, I would never!" cried Quasimodo, flinching as Claude drew a hand back, preparing to strike the young man."Please, no!"

Esmeralda shoved the door open. Her actions moving faster than her thoughts could conjure.

"Stop!" she shouted, spilling out from the closet. She lost her footing amidst the tangling ropes and fell to her hands and knees. The coarse ropes and stone bit into her flesh causing her to wince, but she couldn't allow Quasi to be hurt on her behalf. He had suffered enough by the hands of this cruel Minister, she knew now, but by the same vein, those very hands had loved her, caressed her even. In another life...

_She was torn._

This was it. The inevitable crossroads. Though, she had anticipated a little more time, anything really.

She wasn't ready to take him on. The witch had said this would happen.

Not the witch.

_Esmeralda, you know this story._

_He would search the city first, then the country side with his guards. He would send an inferno across the hills, slay those who did not yield to his desires to find his treasure. He would scorch the very earth to find you.._

_The gypsy maiden..._

Time was not on her side. It had never been. That is why she returned and she would again and again, until she got it right.

_Clockwork was in motion._

Standing on weak knees, Esmeralda tilted her chin up in subtle defiance and whispered,

_"Here I am..._"

* * *

**Happy late Thanksgiving everyone! I might be a little slow on updates. I had hand surgery three days ago and though I'm not in any pain, the cast they fashioned around my wrist makes it rather difficult to type. I peck with my left hand and type furiously with my right. It's annoying. Next friday i'll have it removed but I figured I should let you know when the expeditious updates should be expected.**

**maka reff (le you! le me! hahah!), Wasp22, Amalie, villains-doitbetter (ugh, such a beautiful writer, love love love you.) Thank you all for the reviews. Yuh know I love them. Also, Mystique84! You gave me like a million! I was so excited!**

**I hope yall enjoyed the chapter!**


	33. Alchemy

"_Esmeralda…"_

A brief shiver ruled her, delicate and fleeting like spider legs, skittering up her shoulders and down her back. She couldn't push the air from her lungs and a most conflicting medley of emotions consumed her: relief blocked by apprehension.

_His voice…_

Breathe! she thought.

_He sounds just like Claude…_

It had been weeks, perhaps more, since she had seen him last. Half of her wanted to rise and throw herself into his arms. The other, more unforgiving and feral part of her, wanted to scratch his eyes out and flee. How could these ends of the spectrum work in tandem? It made her sick and dizzy with bewilderment.

Before her, Claude Frollo released his iron grip, allowing Quasimodo to slump down to the floor like dead weight. The rictus of rage that had been plastered to his countenance just moments of ago fell, leaving a startled and disquieted man. A shadow danced along the hollow of his cheek as he faced her fully. Freed, the bell ringer began to move, scrambling to separate himself from his master's hazardous reach.

"Quasimodo," the judge hissed as he regarded Esmeralda, rising to his full stature like a looming beast. "_What do we have here_?"

Entranced and muted, Esmeralda could only watch as he moved forward like dark snake.

Slow..

Deliberate...

Hunting...

Dripping in shadows himself, the man's heavy robe was as black and pitch as his abysmal deeds. A chill bit into her. _Death was knocking._

"M-master," the naturally timid young bell ringer stammered, his parlance falling hopeless. "I...I..."

His eyes darted between Esmeralda and his father, coming short of an explanation.

Internally, a battle erupted.

A conflict Esmeralda had never explored burned her insides like hot coals. She hated him, but in the same breath, _she loved him_. But the love was waning. A dimming light as the curtains were being drawn. A receding fog, crawling back into the darkest portions of her mind to gather cob webs and dust. By the bruises under his baggy eyes, foretelling restless nights and corrosive stress, he looked like a man gone mad.

All for the sake of a lone gyspy maiden?

_He must die! _

_The voice came again; _her voice or wait...was it?

No, I can save him!

_He can not be saved! _

Another fit seized her mind, distorting her memory with another. Deciphering what memories of whom to adhere to was becoming too challenging. She had to remind herself like mantra. Kind but bitter with bouts of sweet was her Claude….or...was he actually vicious and sadistic? A killer? A maniac driven by the cross to spill blood with his slender hands?

_Those hands! _The seething continued.

They had touched her intimately, she knew.

_No, they are tools of murder and depravity! Chop them off!_

No!

_Fashion them into a necklace!_

Unwanted flashes of blood-stained snow amidst howling winds, of charred corpses that stacked before cathedral walls, and lacerations along a pale sinewy back while bells tolled heavenly in the distance. These things, these horrible, unsightly things crowded her mind with their decay and their sounds of agony, blotting out Esmeralda's ability to reason with her own mind.

A cold drop of fear, red as blood, bloomed in her belly and Esmeralda threw her hands over her ears to stop the churning chaos of her thoughts.

He'd killed many like Esmeralda and enjoyed it, reveled in it. This vein of persecution was his legacy. A signature he wanted to carve with splinters of gypsy bone and blood through the purest of snow.

_And now her blood would paint his morbid canvas, as well._

Through tear-stricken eyes, Esmeralda glared up at the judge, lost in the collision of contradicting memories. Her eyes flashing a wild vivid green.

Claude saw this.

He saw the hate she could no longer tame and stepped forward, undeterred. A challenge to her boldness towards a noble such as himself.

Irremediable, Esmeralda charged with a blind fury.

Surrendering herself, a new reign guided her feet across the wood with reaching hands as she speared the judge at mid torso. A seething wrath breathed fire into her as she clambered on top of him while cuffing and boxing his ears and face.

Beneath her, Claude wrapped tight hands around her wrist while maintaining his proverbial smirk, despite the inability to rid her from atop. He seemed to enjoy both the pain of her blows and the diminished proximity.

Like the tears that blurred her vision, this new affliction burned away her reason, branding her soul with a searing hatred and a hunger so black she couldn't remember who she was or why she was here to begin with.

A feral sound, one that had not ceased since she attacked, continued to tear from her throat as she began to claw at his face, neck, and garb. She wanted to pull him asunder. The cloth between her fist yielded with a satisfying _rip!_ exposing his wintry chest.

A sinister cackle exploded from the minister's mouth as the cool air kissed his skin.

_A white settee illuminated by a fire…_

_Milk and caramel…_

_Confusion…_

_A wine glass full of blood..._

Esmeralda blinked, a fraction of her rabid anger halted, just enough time for Quasimodo to wrap his meaty arms around her.

The judge and the floor beneath her disappeared as she was yanked away. Both arms pinned to her sides.

Thrashing her legs, she screamed until it scorched her throat. The sound resonated around them like a phantom banshee as she kicked and bucked against the strong hunchback.

"Release me!" she shrieked, lowering her scathing gaze unto the amused judge as he picked himself off the floor. His uniform was in shambles. Deep claw marks raked his cheek and parts of his chest.

Another growl ripped through her as she attempted again and again to free herself by throwing her knees up, but Quasimodo was far too strong in his hold.

"Look carefully, Quasimodo." Judge Frollo spoke, wiping blood from his chin and examining it. "As you can see, gypsies are nothing more than rabid animals. Puppets for secular beast to inhabit. This one in particular possesses quite the demon."

Esmeralda spat, gritting her teeth. "I will show you _demon_!"

Donning his hat, the Judge goaded with a smirk. "I am sure you will."

The rattling of armor came from across, diverting both Judge and gypsy's gaze. She stopped trashing as a throng of guards ascended the ladder to Quaismodo's quarters. A face, she found, ran her blood cold and extinguished the fire of her rage like ice water.

"Ah, Captain Phoebus!" Judge Frollo sighed nonchalantly as if he wasn't just at the sharp end of a wild gypsy. "Escort this _heathen_ to the Palace of Justice. You know where to put her."

* * *

**A/N: THIS CAST DOES NOT DETER ME!**


	34. Of Vice and Sin

_The dungeons._

A cold and clammy place, but not solitary.

Esmeralda was not the only occupant within those rank corridors of iron and neglect. All around her were many other recipients of Frollo's callous authority. Most were of them, much to her dismay, could very well be her kin. Though she tried not to think of that.

Unfamiliar to her were the lot of the prisoners which made it effortless to keep to herself. Not to mention, her cell was further down the hall and rather secluded from the other inhabitants, which she wasn't entirely sure how she felt on the matter. She wanted to get away and that might require help from others.

Reaching up into the thick tresses of her unruly dark hair, Esmeralda produced a thin hair pin. Reaching through the rusty bars with her arm, she shoved the pin into the keyhole and tinkered as quietly and carefully as she could.

A clamoring report echoed down to her cell through the corridor. Guards barking at the prisoners, clanking their heavy armor and tapping their blades against the cold bars. This elicited what they were hoping to achieve: shouts from agitated prisoners. Their cries and profanities filled the weeping cavity that was their temporary home until they were all lead to the gallows or worse…

The thought alone spurred Esmeralda to work faster at the lock, but it wasn't budging until...

...the pin broke in half.

With a defeated sigh, she retracted her arm, tossing what little of it remained aside. That dark thought continued to plague her head.

_Demon_, he had called her.

En route to the dungeons, the guards had called her worse, berating her with degrading remarks, but they had no effect.

_Sticks and stones_… her mused briefly until a pang of apprehension called her.

Her stomach twisted and she gripped the iron bars of her cell and pressed her head against their cool relief.

If she were lucky, she would be hanged. A swift kiss of death and a quick snap of the neck should do it. She could hear the groaning of the stretched rope now, see her dirty bare feet dangling from the gibbet.

All wishful thinking, albeit. She would not be so fortunate. Judge Frollo would make sure her demise was slow and painfully calculated.

The jostling of keys alerted Esmeralda from the right, releasing her from her morbid reverie

_Speak of the Devil... _her stomach dropped.

And there came the smirking Minister of Justice with the key ring of her freedom hanging from the tip of his finger which he twirled lazily.

Coming to a stop before her cell and maintaining his haughty smirk, he greeted her:

"Good evening, Esmeralda."

Letting go of the bars, she stepped back, meeting him only with silence and a scowl.

Somehow, this pleased him. Defiance stimulated his righteousness and he was here for that very stimulation.

Her heart thundered in the silence. _Certainly he could hear it?_

A shaky breath escaped her lips when she could no longer hold it. She took the bait.

"What do you want?" she breathed, hoping to maintain some control over her trembling parlance. As defiant and pigheaded she'd know herself to be, the Minister of Justice was a merciless man. She wanted to appease him in that regard, know that he frightened her.

_Perhaps have mercy for once..._

His grin lifted and his dark eyes narrowed like a sighted hunter and said, "You know very well what it is that I desire, gypsy girl."

Swallowing thickly, Esmeralda tried best to hide how this made her feel. Her beauty had always been a curse. It always will be.

Stepping closer to the bars, Frollo allowed his eyes to scour her frame. A glint of some sort, caught by the burning torches behind him diverted his hungry gaze to the key slot, where half her hair pin jutted out.

"You crawled your way out of the deepest bellies of hell," he muttered, "it comes to no surprise you would try the same even here." He plucked the fragment and flicked it aside, sighing. "No matter. You won't be going anywhere but to the gibbet-."

"Wait," she prodded carefully. "You came down here to bargain, did you not?"

Frollo snorted derisively, "Bargain? With a gypsy? How unjust."

"Then what do you want from me?" Esmeralda nearly pleaded, coming face to face with him. Only separated by bars, abhorrence and stark fear of the man. Surely this was because of her behavior during the festival, was it not? She had embarrassed him and ridiculed him._ Hadn't she?_

But as she racked her brain for her folly, the images were skewered and misshapen, all wrong. She didn't remember anything, but she was at the festival, wasn't she? _Right?_

Confusion turned to frustration and that too spoiled and darkened.

Before she could reason with herself, she reached through the bars, ensnaring the fabric of his judicial robes, and yanked him to her. The clatter of his rings meeting the iron as he gripped them rang out between their bodies.

Once again, the gypsy maiden found her anger simmering beneath the surface, glittering her eyes as she stared into the judge's formidable mien. She couldn't do nearly enough damage here and now. He would break her arm to free himself and call the guards and-..

_Kiss him..._

It was as unsuitable of her character as it was repulsive. She rebuked the fervidly, blinking as she tried to shake it.

The judge sensed this, furrowing his brow at her betraying expression of conflict.

She released him, stepping far enough back so that his heat nor his smell could influence her any longer.

_What was the meaning of this?_

A blush warmed her cheeks and she forced herself to look away in shame.

Clutching at the fabric of her dress, she wiped the sweat from her palms and grimaced. She sifted her thoughts for something misplaced, lost or forgotten. It was there, begging and pleading to be discovered. Glancing around her cell in hopes an item could bridge what she could not conjure with her mind, she fell short.

Returning her attention to the judge, she placated her combative mind and whispered, "I'm beside myself."

It wasn't a confession, however, the minister took it as so. She meant within heart, not her soul. She was tethered to something, so it felt. And it tugged at her, yanking her thoughts astray, distorting her feisty disposition towards the judge with-

"You are in much need of guidance," he said flippantly, derailing her thoughts. "Your heathen ways are profane and condemning."

Esmeralda saw an opportunity, a crack in his pious armor. A glimmer of hallow weakness she could exploit.

With the blade of her tongue, she coyly sighed. "Then will you help me?"

Though the judge did his best to hide his reaction, Esmeralda already saw his brow rise and chest swell. "I would be delighted to share God's word with you. It is in my best interest to rid this world of _vice and sin._"

Looking to the mouth of her cell, Esmeralda started to scheme. Despite her best interest, or so she thought, she forced her feet to move, to migrate towards the Minister of Justice. With her eyes, she beckoned him closer. His steps gave, catering to her lure, and falling into the gravity of the gypsy's dangerous orbit.

Now against the bars, she looked up and into his gray eyes.

_His poor heart…_

They shared the same heat and breath. That smug grin was gone, but his scowl remained. His efforts in portraying himself hard-bitten and unmoved were in vain when the bob of his Adam's apple dipped and rose as she closed in.

She found a jeweled hand resting along a bar where she softly planted hers. He felt warm. What had she expected? A cold, dead corpse?

_Kiss him…_

The voice came. That_ tug…_

This time she obeyed.

Her head was screaming with clamor as she rose onto her toes to adhere to his height. She guided her face between the bars and froze.

The judge did not move and neither could she.

This was it. The finest line between who she was and who she will be.

She closed her eyes, savoring the heavy lead of her beating heart and this small precious space that teetered delicately between her condemnation.

Esmeralda felt his lips and her eyes snapped open. There he was, the cold, calculating Minister of Justice against her mouth. He was so close, she could see everything. The bruises beneath his closed eyes. His dark brows and gray hair. The tenderness his face took as their lips brushed and...

_She liked it…_

She felt a stirring and her eyes burned. Her arms wanted to move, to reach between the bars but she held tightly.

_Hungry._

_Carnal._

This was not her! Esmeralda would_ never!_

_But she was…_

_And oh God, she liked it…_

_More, please… Yes, more…_

Now his arms snaked into her cell, gripping her as she gripped the iron while her heart hammered so painfully she feared it would break apart her ribs.

The Judge then yanked away, severing the connection with a hiss as the voice of guards echoed off the damp stone walls. He looked _sick_. Pressing a hand to his mouth, he breathed through his nose and looked everywhere but unto Esmeralda.

Her treacherous heart continued to throb and her mind was scattered of thoughts.

Between the effects of his lingering kiss, a sort of dizzying and lightheaded illness, Esmeralda castigated herself and thoroughly.

_How could she?_

You enjoyed it.

_I did not!_

Liar.

Perhaps she was just as sinful as Frollo claimed. How else could she explain what she had just done, with him of all people! She wanted to find a mirror so she could chide her reflection. Perhaps she had gone mad. Maybe she was possessed by a demon. How else could these unwarranted thoughts afflict her so?

As the guards came, escorting the Judge back to the top side, Esmeralda was not left without word. He remained in silence, not even a parting glance for the stunned maiden.

She glanced down and allowed the smallest of smiles while she thumbed the stolen key ring.

* * *

"Quasimodo, slow down." Claude warned. "Our efforts would be entirely in vain if we crash and _all _die."

His son obliged him, slowing the car down substantially as they took a sharp turn around a bend of snow and obscured trees.

The wind continued to battle their drive as they traversed the winding road. He could not see the grove, barely see enough road to assuage his angst, which divided his attention between backseat driving and tending to Esmeralda.

Every glance he surrendered to her was a sharp knife sinking into his skin. It pained him to see her so weak and frail in his arms, so quiet when he knew very well how full of beans she was. The perpetual knot in his throat constricted and he attempted to swallow the discomfort, both physically and mentally.

At what felt an eternity, they finally reached the outskirts of Saranac Lake village.

His son navigated the barren streets of this small town as the snow continued to fall with a roaring aggression.

"There's not much here, father." Quasimodo admitted, leaning forward over the steering wheel. "It says here there's a hospital, but I'm not seeing it."

Claude looked out his own clouded window, denoting only a flurry of heavy snow and bleak grays. "It's here. I'm sure of it."

"There!" Quasimodo blurted, pressing on the gas and throwing Claude against his seat.

A golden light warring against the snuffing blizzard made itself known. As they neared, the light grew, revealing a massive structure of pale stone and silver columns.

_Adirondack Health Center._

"Park, child!" Claude demanded, bundling Esmeralda tightly as he could, eager to expel himself from the car.

Before the machine could even entirely stop, Claude threw the door open. The wind ripped it was from his grasp. He then gathered her into his arms, using his legs and hips to scoot across the backseat. Quasimodo was there soon, helping them ease out of the cab of his car.

"Alert the staff!" Claude shouted over the howling gust, adrenaline still running a vicious and scorching course through him.

His son disappeared like a ghost, swallowed by the snow and the wind as he hurried inside. Claude not far behind him.

The glass doors split opened before him and a throng of nurses were ready to receive her from his arms, despite how reluctant he was to part from her.

Like a shipwreck cast aside on barren shores, Claude was left in shambles at they wheeled her away.

* * *

_"I feared I'd find you here."_

The proverbial scratching noise came from _inside_ Esmeralda's cell.

Startled, she stepped back, finding the haggard being across her confinement.

Esmeralda curled her lip with disgust. "Ophelia, you snake. Have you not done enough?"

"Ahhh," Ophelia smiled toothlessly, beaming. "There you are, my pet. I was hoping you'd make your appearance."

"I was hoping you wouldn't." The gypsy retorted harshly.

"Nevertheless, it seems you've done away with your normal antics by remaining." Ophelia pointed with her stare. "You have _keys_ now."

"Leave me alone, you wretched thing." Esmeralda turned away. Her soiled past rearing an ugly head.

"This has become one of the most interesting of spectacles, I dare say!" The harpy clapped her bone thin hands with joy. "Could this be the end of your affliction!"

Trying best not to think about what Esmeralda had done in a fit of vengeance, she hurried to her barred entrance and fumbled with every key available. Not to get away from the witch, no. Ophelia was a phantom that plagued her no matter what walls or parapets surrounded her. Not even God could keep this fiend away. It was Esmeralda's fault, no less. She was blinded by her own plight for revenge, she had come to Ophelia for help, but witchcraft was a tricky game and Ophelia had _slipped_ _up, _so she claimed, collaring Esmeralda with an unending, ever-present curse.

She vowed there was a remedy to it, but would refuse to indulge exactly what that was.

No matter now, she thought, as the right key was discovered and the unlatching cough of her confinement echoed victoriously.

She slid the heavy gate as quietly as she could, slinking out into the corridor.

Now she had to get passed the guards.

* * *

**I wanted to post another chapter rather soon since 33 was short, erm, shorter than I typically produce. Not to mention, I'm trying hard to keep the story rolling and finish before upcoming Feb. A year, I find, is too long to sit on a novel, but that's just my opinion. Ophelia is a fictional character, though I did try to find a French witch during this era. Ophelia also means snake, which I found fitting, because damn her! **

**Villains-doitbetter and Emmie, thank you for the reviews!**


	35. Half Way to Hell

By mere luck, a scuffle had ensued the moment Esmeralda set foot into the corridor. Two adult males from another cell began throwing themselves against the dirt and iron bars. Fellow cellmates were unable to separate the two and soon, it was up to the guards. It was at this time Esmeralda slipped passed her own bars and skirted the sides of the corridor like a shadow before making a dash for the exit.

By the time she reached the landing, her lungs burned cold and she was panting. At the top, only one door revealed itself and that led her to the palace's main vestibule, and thereafter, the large foyer, split evenly with marble stairs that traced the interior of the hall.

She had never been in the palace before today and had only briefly got a layout of the foyer when she arrived. Entering the chamber, much like a cathedral, the walls and windows lured her eyes heavenward. As if such a palace of torture and cruelty could be anything but harrow. The ceilings were steep and a mural depicted, from what she could tell in the dim light, a glimpse into the holy everlasting life. Esmeralda grimaced further, glaring at candelabras that surrounded her. Each revealed their assigned doorways and gave flickering glimpses of bookshelves that lined all the walls around her.

_The judge lived here, this much she knew._

The thought alone was enough to spur her into action. Driven by this very hatred she rushed towards the stairs. The sun was far gone to offer a ray of shine through the windows, but that was alright. The tiny flames did what they could and Esmeralda's imagination did the rest.

Pausing mid step, a sound reached her ears. She looked down at the pale floor and back up into the thick shadows, tilting her head while she listened. Whatever it was, was too muffled to discern exactly what and where it derived. What guards remained for the late night watch either stood outside the palace in the cold or resided from whence she came. Anything within the stone walls was perhaps housekeeper or, even better, the judge himself.

Disregarding the sound, she took the cold steps two at a time until reaching the intermediate landing where a seated saint await her.

She made a right and mounted those stairs before coming to another short stop. She glanced over her shoulder. Either she had finally gone made or_ the statue breathing._

_No, worse._

"Opheila," Emseralda hissed, turning completely to glare at the shadow creeping out from behind the carved marble. "What is it now?"

Emerging from her shadowy insert, the witch revealed herself.

"Oh, my dear." she croaked, carefully taking a few steps up the stairs to look into the gypsy's eyes. Even in the darkness, her eyes shined with mischief. "Wherever are you?"

Glowering, Esmeralda stepped back. "Enough of you!"

Narrowing her eyes, Ophelia leaned in. "Can you hear me? Are you in there?"

* * *

In the darkest recesses of her mind, she floated. She did a many other things, too.

She cried and screamed.

She bellowed and wailed with hysteria. But her anger and fret drifted to empty ears.

The longer she spent in this convoluted realm, the lesser and quieter she became. She was losing herself, slipping back into the mind where she watched things in horror as _she _incited scorn and hatred across the reel. One of the most important things she had failed to take into account was the fact that during such times, this sudden and rather impending transgression, was the memory of another. Not, in actuality, of her's in any degree.

This story belonged to _someone else_ and she had been sucked into it.

_This _woman was much like Esmeralda, as wild and untamed as she was, had the reins. Where this being came from was unknown. Maybe Esmeralda suffered from multiple personalities? How else could she explain such a circumstance? Had her time with Phoebus really affected her to the point of dissociation?

And to make matters worse, she couldn't stop it. She had been swallowed whole and now her efforts were rendered naught and her pleas mute.

So she drifted.

The throes of this woman's agony and despair had such an undertow, it plagued even Esmeralda. The conviction was so strong, it was rather convincing why she abhorred the judge so. Often times, it almost seemed as if the hate was so strong it.._. stained._

So lost in her perpetual and endless gamut of thoughts, she hadn't heard the small voice slip through the darkness and reach her like a tender lover.

Still, she drifted.

Then it came again, this time Esmeralda noticed.

Shaking free of her trance, she looked outward, through the eyes of another and saw:

_Ophelia emerge._

Aside from their uncanny resemblance, another favor they shared was their contempt for the aforementioned.

Externally, the woman was unsightly, however more so within, for both parties knew she was fickle and untrustworthy.

But something peculiar was happening as she took to the stairs, coming for the wild gypsy.

"Oh, my dear." The witch began, "Wherever are you?"

"Enough of you!" The gypsy spat, taking a retreating step.

Ophelia leaned in, almost looking passed the woman before her.

_She's looking me. _She realized quickly.

"Can you hear me? Are you in there?" Ophelia peered.

_Yes! _She soared, _I'm here!_

* * *

Blinking Esmeralda's bemusement turned into elation. What a peculiar time to be happy. Perhaps she knew the end of her story was near and that after tonight, the gypsies of Paris, the Court of Miracles and all thereafter would be free of this racist oppression. Esmeralda was no martyr. She _was _an unholy thing and from that alone, she was proud. If this is what God wanted, the eradication of gypsy, then he was no God to her.

"Stay of away from me," Esmeralda growled at the witch, taking the few remaining steps away and onto the landing.

Spinning on her bare heel, she raced down the corridor, keeping careful note to the sounds around her.

Only one thing could be heard in the entire castle and that, Esmeralda was certain, was the minister.

As faint as it was, and terribly so, she denoted it a floor, or several, above her. The Palace of Justice was mammoth in size and austerity, fear reminded her she could get lost, but a gypsy could always find a way to escape. Carpet laid across the stone floor, absorbing every foot fall she made until finding a concealed corridor.

Staring into its impenetrable depths with her curious green eyes, Esmeralda braved herself. She crossed the threshold and followed the melancholy sound.

The sadness and the shadows carried Esmeralda down the cold narrow hall until she was listening to the very provenance beyond a thick door.

Trying the handle while her heart leapt, it surrendered to her entry and she pushed passed the threshold into the dark secrets that awaited her.

A fire, wide and hearty, was ablaze before a man. His shoulders shook and his entire body trembled in tales of woe as he stared into the flame.

_Minister Frollo._

Beneath her skirt she could feel the warm dagger press to her thigh like another limb she obtained since birth. It withstood well throughout the years of abuse and held its own scars like its master.

It appeared her arrival was undetected and she did her best to reign in her racing heart as she shut the heavy door.


	36. The Ticking of Eternity

A fire, wide and hearty, was ablaze before the silhouette of a man. By the sound of her arrival, he spun around while the weeping came to a halt.

The vast room was stone cold and dim. A clock ticked from the far end and the sound was so stark against the heavy silence, every report caused her to flinch.

It felt like a tomb, just as cold and dark and deathly quiet. Perhaps the room would become her tomb and harvest her very last breath.

Against the backdrop of depicted hellfire, the figure, none other than the judge, straightened to his towering stature.

"I see you have escaped." His voice, rich and soft as silk, came with a surprisingly steady baritone despite his woeful disposition. "Shocking."

Esmeralda narrowed her eyes, braving a step away from the only escape to delve further into the chamber.

"Don't act surprised," she said tightly, fist already tight.

Frollo snorted, "Hardly. Your kind-."

"I don't care what you think of my kind." Esmeralda interjected, migrating closer. Her hand hovered over a portion of her skirt where, beneath the fabric, a dagger hid.

"So you've come to claim my life then?" He replied offhandedly and turned to fully face her. His tall frame against the bright fire burned into her vision. Even when she blinked, he was still there.

She didn't need to see his countenance to know a smirk played his lips.

Esmeralda replied dryly. "It's only fitting." She was closer now.

"Should you so choose, you soul will be slotted for eternal damnation. Is that something you truly desire?"

"Yes," she admitted, gritting her teeth. A fragrant caressed her senses then her eyes dropped, spotting the toppled bottles of wine that lied between the items and books upon his desk. The closer she came, the stronger the smell of fermented grapes greeted her in the dark.

_He was drunk._

Her confidence soared as soon as she realized she was at an advantage.

He was inebriated. His balance would be off. His judgement misguided. His death could be blamed on a number of things if she played it right. Perhaps she could fling him from a window. The fall itself would maim him enough to hide the stab wounds. Or a deadly slip could be managed, throwing the minister into the bellies of flame and hearth.

She had to act quickly.

Reaching beneath her skirt, she freed the blade and lunged.

A hand shot up, catching her firmly by the throat just as she closed in. The other ensnared her small wrist, twisting it unnaturally so a slice of pain raced up her arm. It response, her fingers splayed and she pulled back while the dagger fell to the floor.

Disarmed, Esmeralda yelped and Frollo began to move quickly, pushing her back while her bare feet stumbled to stay righted. Her retreating lead her to the cold stone wall directly behind.

His strength was an alarming surprise. She could smell the rich wine on his breath and feel how hot his body ran against her. Any thought of consequence to his actions were deadened to his senses.

_God have mercy, she made a mistake coming here._

"Have you come to finish what you started?" His voice shook, hot and polluted with wine. "You damned my soul and now you're here to collect it? Have you not tormented me enough?"

"Any torment you endure is righteous." Esmeralda snarled as tears threatened her eyes. "You deserve every bit of the pain!"

"You are my torment and my pain!" Frollo shouted, grabbing her firmly by the shoulders and pinning her against the wall. Even in the dim shadows, his dark eyes held a familiar carnage Esmeralda saw in many men. This _thing _was no man. He was lesser than the gypsies he persecuted.

"You disgust me," her trembling voice dripped with hatred.

A crack splintered through the cavernous room as the back of his hand found swift purchase across her face. Stars exploded over her vision as she tried to stagger back, meeting the cold wall a second time.

Vision swimming with blots of lights, her hand came up to examine the stinging welt as her knees weakened and gave.

Then a scene of the most terrible confusion ensued.

The white blots grew, covering her vision, blanketing the dark chamber, swallowing her vision entirely. A smell reached her and a heaviness soon thereafter that pulled her down and down and down into blinding light. She needed to lie down, she realized, reaching for the floor. But the floor was gone, only air met her grasping hands. The heaviness grew, conquering her arms and her legs and even her chest and eyes. A fatigue she'd never experience beforehand consumed her and then she saw something in the light.

The definition of a ceiling emerged. A window on her left where the blinding sun made entry.

A hospital bed.

The incessant tone of a machine.

A blanket spread over her body and tucked neatly beneath her arms and someone was holding her hand.

She remembered everything.


End file.
